Beautiful, Broken, Lovely
by StormySeaEyes
Summary: Porella has been raised her entire life amidst the glamorous circles of Slytherin purebloods. She has been taught to be clever, strong, and to fight against anyone outside of her family. But when disaster strikes in her seventh year at Hogwarts, she finds herself questioning everything she knew. Albus/OC. Rated T for swearing.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything affiliated with it. It all belongs to the talented J.K. Rowling_

_A/N: And so the journey begins! Welcome back, Lilium Ignis readers, and hello to anyone new out there! I'm extremely excited to have finally released the first chapter of Beautiful, Broken, Lovely. The whole story should be around fifteen chapters with an ephasis on an Albus/OC pairing. In the mean time, please enjoy, and let me know what you think._

* * *

Porella wore a cross necklace that she never took off.

It was inlaid with delicate roses, carved of bronze and gold. Tiny red jewels dotted the innards of the flowers like serpent's eyes, and though they were not green, they were equally as menacing in their beauty. Slim vines of silver ivy ran around the edges and the back, a garden of intricately ornate designs. The cross was small, hardly half the size of her pinkie finger, and no thicker than the width of half a thumbnail. It was simply stunning.

She hated it.

Perhaps it was the fact that the roses seemed to mock her, innocently deceptive in their elegance. _Porella Rose_, her parents had named her, and gave her the necklace for good measure. Porella personally thought it was the stupidest name she had ever heard and, coupled with the fact that it made her sound like a harlot, she despised it with a passion. Her first name was pretentious and her middle name was already taken by one of the million members of the Weasley family.

Nevertheless, she never took off the cross.

It accompanied her in the shower, at mealtimes and, on the nights when she managed to actually fall asleep, to bed. She couldn't help but think it might be the only thing that her mother was proud of her for: proving her loyalty to the Yaxleyfamily by wearing an heirloom.

Porella didn't think that she needed to prove anything with a bit of old jewelry. She had already sold her soul to the devil, and it was far too late to take it back. Her family had inducted her into a sort of nightmarish Hell, and as far as she could tell, there was no escaping it.

"_Porella._"

Immediately, she snapped to, dropping the necklace abruptly in favor of her wand. It was an instinctive impulse, ingrained within her since birth, and she swung upward, pushing the tip of it against human flesh. Coltan Lestrange smiled widely, his sharp eyes flickering to where the wand rested against his throat.

"Ah. A little left next time if you intend to kill me, but other than that, quite good."

Porella's grip was steady. "If I had wanted to kill you, then you would be dead by now."

"I don't doubt it," he said, amused.

The two of them stood in a small knot of cloaked figures, shrouded in the inky darkness. Only the faint illumination of the stars provided any light, and Porella could just make out the silhouette of Hogwarts in the distance. It was a chilly September night; students would be on their way to their warm beds, if not already well asleep. She pictured her own silky bed within the Slytherin dungeons, starch and taut from lack of use.

"You know," Coltan said, attaining her reluctant attention once more, "your hand will get sore if you hold that thing any longer."

Belatedly, Porella realized that she was still holding the wand to his throat, and she lowered it smoothly. Even in the darkness, she could feel Coltan's eyes on her, regarding her steadily. It was a sort of stifling presence; at nineteen years old, Coltan Lestrange stood at over six feet tall. He was well built too, with strong muscles, cropped blonde hair and even white teeth. Porella supposed he was the type of bloke that most girls couldn't help but be attracted to, all the while being too intimidated to talk to him.

As it was, Porella didn't want to be any nearer to him than was strictly necessary.

"Don't you have better things to be doing, Lestrange?" She ground a heeled boot into the ground absently, watching as the dirt piled up around her feet. She could feel Coltan's hot breath on the back of her neck, but refused to turn around lest he think that she was scared. "I thought you were supposed to be some death eater superstar."

"I am." He grinned, his teeth blinding white in the darkness. "That's why I was sent on this mission."

"To terrorize school children?" She made a tsking noise. "Don't be naive, Coltan. Your daddy put you here so that you wouldn't interfere with the real business. If you believe any different, you're more stupid than I originally thought."

She had the brief satisfaction of seeing Coltan's mask of calm falter, his face contorted in fury. Then, just as suddenly as it had fallen, his guard was back up again. To her disgust, he lay a hand on her shoulder. She kept her eyes focused on his face, refusing to flinch, as it steadily slipped lower. "You're including yourself, of course, in the school children that I'm terrorizing."

"Of course not." His hand had reached her upper thigh, but she did not so much as blink. Instead, she moved forward, so that their lips were a mere inch apart. She heard his breathing hitch. "I'm far more experienced than most."

"Is that so?"

"Yes." She smiled. "Especially in the art of how exactly to stop an unwanted intruder." Her heel landed on his toe with bone-crushing force, stamping down on the delicate tendons of his foot. Coltan winced in pain, but made no sound aside from a startled intake of breath. Porella's smile was poisonous honey as she moved away, gliding towards the others with the silent grace of one well learned.

The figures stood in a loose formation around the edge of the black lake, camouflaged into the nearby shrubs and old oak trees. Small ripples danced across the glassy surface of the water and, if she wasn't mistaken, Porella could hear the melancholy call of Mer beneath the surface. Hogwarts looked almost lonely in its solitude; only a few candles flickered in the windows of the large castle, and the mournful howl of wind ripped through the eaves and the high lofts and turrets.

A sudden rustling caught her attention, and she turned to see the figures moving into position. Her parents stood among the throng, although Porella couldn't have guessed which ones they were. Of the roughly thirty people that had gathered, she knew only several, most of which she disliked. That list included her parents and Coltan Lestrange, although there were people here that Porella didn't mind. People like-

"Scorpius!"

A flash of platinum blonde hair caught her eye, and she surged forward, catching the cloaked figure by the arm. To her relief, it was the person intended, and Scorpius Malfoy's hood fell away, the starlight catching the pale gold of his hair. He quickly shoved the garment back up irritably, shooting her a look of narrow frustration.

"Jesus, Porella!" the seventh-year Slytherin complained. "What part of _disguise yourself _did you not understand?"

"It was a load of bullshit." She shrugged. "It's dark out, anyways. Unless people from the castle have super-human vision or are taking a midnight stroll, I can't see why we should bother."

"How very sensible."

She smiled sweetly. "Yes, I thought so."

With his hood and the moonlight reflecting off of his hair, Scorpius could have been Coltan. The two certainly shared a strong resemblance that, despite not sharing immediate blood, many had mistaken them for brothers on more than one occasion. But whereas Coltan was short and stocky, Scorpius was long and lean. Coltan tended to be brash; Scorpius, eloquent and careful. While they had both been brought up with the pureblood values of precise, polite speech, Porella thought that Scorpius had been the only one to take it to heart.

"What?" Scorpius was looking at her oddly. "Do I have something on my face?"

Porella realized that she had been staring at him, most likely with a scowl. Just the thought of the older blonde boy was enough to make her want to be sick, and she had no doubt that it was written all over her face. "You looked like Coltan for a moment there."

"Please." Although she could not see his face, the horrified tone of his voice was enough for her to guess what Scorpius was thinking. "I'm far more attractive than him. He looks like an ape."

"He _acts_ like an ape," she corrected him. "He's actually quite good-looking if you get over the fact that he's a complete arse."

"Ah." Scorpius leaned forward, the hood sliding back far enough that she could make out the expression on his face. There was a sudden spark of understanding in his eyes, as if he had just realized something amusing. "Coltan's trying to get into your knickers again, then?"

"Isn't he always?"

"Can't say that I blame him." He smirked, fingering the light material of her cloak. "Put on some clothes, Porella."

She glanced down at herself critically. It was not outrageous as far as outfits went: her Slytherin skirt had been exchanged for tight black leather trousers, tucked into high-heeled boots. She had opted for a simple black vest - if only to prove that she _had_ been listening during their lecture to disguise themselves - and a dark green cloak that she could move more freely in. Her long, dark hair was braided back and away from her face.

"It's not _that_ revealing," Porella decided sourly, looking up at Scorpius with disdain. "I've worn worse. It's just that certain sexist pigs can't seem to stop thinking with their hormones and use their brains instead."

"Oi!" Scorpius said, offended. "I think with my brain!"

She couldn't help but smirk. "I meant Coltan."

Scorpius opened his mouth to speak when a sudden noise made both of them turn. In fact, it wasn't a noise, Porella thought curiously, so much as a sudden _lack _of noise. A hush had fallen over the group, and she watched, fascinated, as several cloaked figures moved forwards towards the lake. Her hand went automatically to the cross at her throat. She felt Scorpius stiffen beside her.

"Porel-"

"Shh." She gave a weary glance to where several taller figures stood nearby. She knew better than to interrupt during such an important moment, unless she wanted to face the wrath of her parents later. "Just wait."

The procession continued on in eerie silence, their footsteps so silent that they could have flying. The three figures finally stopped at the edge of the lake, drawing their wands from their pockets in unison. Out of the corner of her eye, Porella could see Coltan give an excited start. Scorpius remained board-stiff beside her.

There was a moment of pause. Just for a moment, Porella thought that the middle caster smiled.

"_Tenebris resurgam_," he cried, raising his wand like a trophy. And then, this time in incantation, "_Morsmordre!"_

Porella watched, mesmerized, as a great serpent of green flaming ribbons shot from the end of his wand, wrapping itself around the stars above. Its tongue flickered in the moonlight, tasting the inky blackness with a newfound sort of eagerness. Its reflection in the lake was eerily distorted. And words, the same words that the caster had spoken, rang around in her head like tiny warning bells.

_T__enebris resurgam_

Darkness will rise again.

* * *

Porella had steadily come to learn that, for whatever reason, after awaking darkness and casting evil spells, a formal dinner was usually expected to follow.

The Malfoy mansion was done up in lavish tones of black and white, so that the entire ballroom looked like newsprint. Marble columns swept toward the high-domed ceiling in magnificent arches, and expensive-looking ice sculptures dotted each small table. The only color came from the blood red of the berries that twined around banisters and table ledges like pythons.

"I hate dinner parties," she sighed, crossing her long legs at the ankle. They were hardly seen through the icy blue fabric of her dress, a color that her mother insisted matched her eyes. Porella had personally wanted to wear red but, as usual, had gone along with what her mother had wanted instead. "I feel like we're at a pageant show where our parents compare who has the nicest groomed pug."

Scorpius raised a blonde eyebrow. "Did you just refer to us as dogs?"

"You're right. Snakes would have made more sense."

The two of them were seated at a table in the corner, hidden beneath the sweeping staircase above them. Couples in bright colors and fancy fabrics waltzed by them, their movements careful and precise. Women with hair piled high laughed in grating tones, their giggles bouncing off the wall, and men exchanged cool handshakes. Insincerity poured off of everybody in waves, and Porella couldn't help but smirk.

"What?" Scorpius mimicked her expression, his long fingers tapping a rhythm on the table. "What are you smiling about?"

"Conrad's not here," Porella said truthfully, taking a small sip of the wine that she held carefully in one hand. "That's enough to make anyone smile."

Scorpius swiped her glass in one swift motion, lifting it to his lips. "And where is Lestrange instead?"

"No doubt hurrying about with his important business." With a quick flick of her wand, the glass of wine returned to her hand, and she twiddled the stem between two of her fingers. "Learning how to tie his own shoes without a helping hand from his parents and such."

"You don't like them," Scorpius observed, surveying her with interlaced fingers. "I mean, that's hardly unusual, but you're often not so vocal about it."

Porella's hand tightened around the stem of the glass. She could feel the swirly patterns being embedded into her skin, the hills and valleys of the cut crystal digging into her flesh. "I've had too much to drink."

"Obviously." His smile was wicked. "But I doubt that's why you're so opinionated."

Porella studiously ignored him, taking another sip. If she was honest with herself, Scorpius had hit a little too close to the mark for her liking. While she was certainly no fan of Conrad, his parents were ten times worse and, if truth be told, reminded her too much of her own parents. The thought of turning out like Conrad was a nightmare in itself.

An amused scoff from Scorpius made her look upwards once more. His eyes were trained on a pair of men nearby, their stances predatory as they circled the dessert table. Porella noticed that each held a wand up their sleeve, just inches from the tips of their fingers.

"Seems like things are going well." She swept her dark hair impatiently away from her shoulders, turning to raise an eyebrow at the blonde boy across from her. "You'll be lucky if they don't blow up your house tonight. I really do hate dinner parties."

"Ah, but I love them." Scorpius' smile was all glittering sharp angles. "There's never a dull moment, is there? Someone's always maimed before dinner and killed after dessert."

"Truer words were never spoken."

Porella flinched slightly, her wand falling into her hand immediately. Scorpius had already risen to his feet smoothly, adjusting his suit politely. To the untrained eye, he looked like a gentleman preparing for a handshake, but Porella could tell exactly what he was doing. Scorpius was checking to make sure that his wand was still in his pocket.

She, too, moved to her feet, allowing her dress to cascade around her in waterfalls of silk. Her voice was cool as she turned to face their visitor. "I'm so terribly sorry that you overheard Scorpius and I. You see, we were just-" She cut off, her eyes widening in recognition. "Blake!"

The older boy grinned at her. He was dressed sharply in a black tailored suit, although his tie hung slightly crookedly, as if he couldn't stand the idea of appeasing his parents. His dark, curly hair was tousled around his head, the same shade as his eyes. Porella had always found looking at him difficult ever since she was a little girl because he was achingly lovely, as if he had been carved from stone and made into a statue of a Greek god. Everything about his was divinely perfect. He was a piece of artwork himself.

Scorpius was the first to recover. "Blake," he said hoarsely, blinking as if he hardly dared to believe it. "What- But I thought that you were- I mean, you left and-"

Blake grinned. "Clearly, your eloquence is not what I recall it to be."

"Shut-up, you tosser," Scorpius said gruffly, moving forward to embrace the other boy briefly. "I thought you had gotten yourself killed by now."

"So did my parents." He shrugged. "Unfortunately, they don't share your excitement that I survived." And then, so suddenly that she was hardly prepared, Blake turned to face her. His dark eyes flickered over her face, as if he was memorizing this version of her and comparing it to what he remembered.

She remembered those same eyes on her last day of fifth year, the summer sun magnifying the flecks of green and gold hidden within their depths. He had told her not to worry, and that he would be back soon, faster than if she were to fly to Surrey and back. Now, those same eyes held a smile, and Blake moved towards her slightly. "It's good to see you too, Porella."

She took an automatic step backwards. "I thought that you were dead."

"Yes." His brow furrowed. "As did Scorpius. But, as proven, I'm obviously not."

"No, you don't understand," she said coldly. "I thought that you were dead, Blake. I waited every day for months after you left, hoping that your owl would arrive." And now that she had started, she found that she couldn't stop, the words tumbling out one after the other. "I used to sit at the breakfast table in my sixth year and just pray to whatever sort of god that I might believe in that I might just have three words from you. And do you know how many I got?"

His dark eyes were unreadable. "Porella-"

"Do you know?"

"Porella, I-"

"None," she said quietly, her voice dangerously low. "I never got one owl." She noticed out of the corner of her eye that Scorpius had slipped away, manouvering easily into a nearby circle of elderly ladies that immediately fawned over him, complimenting him on how he had grown. Blake, who had apparently noticed this too, swallowed thickly.

"I meant to write," he told her. "I honestly did. But I was so busy-"

"All year?" Her voice was chilly, and she arched a skeptical eyebrow. She crossed her arms defensively over her chest. "What were you even doing on your stupid mission anyway, Blake? Hoping for eternal fame and glory? I bet you were so proud when they branded you with a mark. I bet you cried with happiness."

He ran an agitated hand through his curly locks, making them appear even more disheveled. "Porella, could I just tell you what I-"

"No." She shook her head, taking a dangerous step forward. "You are an absolute bastard for the hell that you put me through, and I hope that you regret it for the rest of your life, you selfish prick."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sure you are. You should have written."

"No, I'm not sorry for _that_." Blake smiled, more hesitantly this time, as if he were in a cage with a bear that might attack at any moment. He was treading carefully, Porella thought. And it was wise of him to do so. "I'm sorry that the letters were hidden from you."

That brought her up short. "What?"

"The letters were hidden from you," he repeated. "I sent owls every week. They just never reached you."

She studied his face carefully. Despite the fact that Blake had once been in Slytherin, he had always had difficulty hiding his emotions, and this was no exception. Porella could see every thought play across his face like a storybook, and she read each one with care. Guilt, regret, and horror, followed with something that looked like resolve. And, although she pitied him for his weakness, Porella couldn't help but feel that in this case, Blake's inability to hide his feelings was useful.

"You're forgiven." She smiled. "If only just."

Blake's face was saturated with something like relief. His shoulders slumped as if a great weight had been released, and he opened with arms wide. "Come here, little sister."

Porella allowed herself to be encompassed in the warmth of her brother's arms and, though her mind couldn't help but feel as if the sensation was foreign, her body remembered Blake's shape with startling clarity. She had grown a few inches since their last meeting, but his arms fit around her as well as ever, and she couldn't help but laugh as he picked her up and swung her around.

"Blake!" she complained, hitting at his shoulders. "Put me down!"

"Never."

"Right now!" Porella swatted at his back, her feet kicking out wildly. A few witches nearby turned to give them disapproving looks, but she ignored them studiously. She could feel the vibrations of her brother's laughter through his suit.

"As stubborn as ever."

He set her back down, replacing her lightly on her feet. And even though she probably could have knocked him out with her wand in three seconds flat, Porella appreciated the gesture all the same. Her brother had a gentle nature, much more kind than her own temperamental one. She sometimes forgot that he had once been a Slytherin at all. As if of their own accord, her eyes sought for the tattoo that she knew would be there now, branded into the skin of her brother's forearm.

Her gaze was met with smooth, olive skin. There were no marks or blemishes.

Porella felt her brow furrow. "Blake-"

"Oh, good. I see that the two of you have found each other once again."

Irene Yaxley stood before them, her hands planted on her hips. Greying blonde hair was swept up into an immaculate bun, pins pressing the thin strands flat against skin. A tight green dress buttoned to her slender neck, clashing with the usual blood red of her fingernails. Irene tapped them slowly on her arm.

Porella swallowed, stepping back quickly from Blake. "Mother."

"Your father and I were just about to oversee your reunion," Irene told her son, ignoring her daughter entirely. "Unfortunately, we appear to be too late." Her smile was poisoned honey. "As is it for you."

Blake's face was hard. "What do you mean?"

And just like that, their mother's sweet facade vanished. Irene subtly looked both ways before stepping forward, a placid smile on her face. Her crimson fingernails dug into the flesh of Blake's arm, and yet, her brother did not wince. Irene never stopped smiling. "I told you not to come tonight, Blake. After your mission, your father and I-"

"Is it?" Blake looked at her calmly, although Porella noticed that his fingers twitched at his sides as if they yearned to strike out. "Is it really both of your idea, or is it you going along with whatever dad says once again?"

Porella sucked in a quick breath. "Blake, don't."

"It's alright, Porella." Blake was a good head taller than Irene, but in that instant, Porella thought that he had never looked so tiny compared to their murderous mother. "It's true."

Irene's fingernails dug deeper. "I will not be spoken to like that," she said quietly, her voice dangerously low. "It seems that you have forgotten how this family operates while you've been gone, Blake. You answer to your father and I; we asked that you stay away from the formalities tonight, and so you should have."

"Why?" Blake's tone was mildly curious, but Porella could hear the sting of venom beneath. "Because you're embarrassed of me? Because you're ashamed?"

Her mother's gaze was hard, mirroring Blake's own quiet fury. The skin beneath her fingernails had begun to turn white. Suddenly, Blake's bare forarm in lieu of a tattoo began to make more sense, and Porella's hand went reflexively to her wand. Blake had failed his mission. For whatever reason, her brother had not completed his task, and thus was not branded with a mark. Whether he had thrown it on purpose or was physically unable, Porella wasn't certain, but it brought shame upon the entire Lestrange family.

And here Blake was, defying her family in front of every noble Slytherin family just to irritate her parents.

Porella could have killed him.

"Mother, Blake's obviously very tired," she said, shooting her brother a look of irritation. "Perhaps he should go and rest for awhile. The sun on his journey has obviously affected his brain."

Irene's gaze never wavered from Blake, though her voice cracked down like a whip. "Do not stand up for your brother, Porella. He's put the entire family name in jeopardy."

Porella immediately fell silent, years of proper breeding and survival instincts telling her to make herself as small as humanly possible. Unfortunately, in the swaths of blue fabric and heels, that was not an easy feat. To her horror, she saw that her mother had drawn her wand. Blake copied her motion.

Porella bit her lip. "Please-"

"Irene, darling." Astoria Malfoy appeared as if summoned by Porella's desperate thoughts, her long, slender fingers hooking around Irene's arm. Her upturned nose was wrinkled in distaste, and the faintest of frown lines had begun to gather at the base of her forehead. "I'm so sorry to interrupt-"

"Not at all." In one smooth motion, Porella's mother detached herself from Blake, pulling down his sleeve so that the welts on his arm were covered. Astoria hardly seemed to notice.

"I cannot apologize enough for the short notice, but the dinner party is cancelled."

"Oh?" Her mother's blonde eyebrows shot to her hairline, and her mouth was the perfect pout of faux concern. "Is something the matter?"

Porella could have laughed. _Besides your party behavior skills?_

"Well..." Astoria hesitated. For the first time, Porella's intrigue rose, and she shuffled forward cautiously. She had been to enough society parties to know when people created drama for effect, and when people created drama because there was drama. This was definitely a latter case, and she could read the genuine distress in Astoria's eyes. "It's a family situation, I'm afraid."

"Really?" Porella could tell that her mother was equally as interested as her, if not more so. "Can I help?"

"No, no." Astoria waved a sparkling hand, the jewels on her hand catching the light and throwing tiny rainbows around the room. The rock on her index finger was roughly the size of a bird's egg. "I'm sure he'll come back soon enough."

"Someone's missing?" Irene leaned towards the other woman. "Who?"

For a moment, Astoria said nothing. Porella had the feeling that she was only half-listening, her attention torn between an insistent Irene and whatever the pressing problem was. Then, she seemed to get ahold of herself. The color had left her cheeks, and when she spoke, her voice was slightly hoarse.

"Scorpius. My son is missing."

* * *

_A/N: Please leave a review, comment or suggestion below!_


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything affiliated with it. It all belongs to the talented J.K. Rowling_

_A/N: Sorry for the long wait! My house has recently recieved about ten feet of water, and so I have been busy dealing with damages and repairs. This chapter goes out to all of the flood victims in Calgary, Canada. Stay strong, everybody!  
_

* * *

_A raven sits in the tree above her._

_ Black and inky as night, its feathers just a few shades lighter than her own hair, it stares at Porella with hollow, beady eyes. Its claws are clamped loosely on a tree limb overhead, the sharp talons sliding up and over as if the raven was dancing with anticipation. She can feel her heart rate speed up. The raven looks at her curiously, contemplating her with steady eyes. Its caw is mocking laughter, stolen by the wind._

_ There is a snake at her feet, wrapped protectively around her ankles. It is long and silvery, intricate green bands twined around its tail and head. A flat nose looks up at her, as if reassuring that she is still there and well. The raven caws above her. Porella's head snaps up, just in time to see the black beast dive. She throws her arms, wide, ready to protect her head. The snake hisses, raising its head, and she thinks its to attack the bird but-_

_ A blinding pain explodes in her ankle._

Porella was awoken with a start, her hand flying automatically to stop herself from crying out. Her skin was soaked in cold sweat, and goosebumps had risen on her legs and arms. Her body was shaking like a tree in a windstorm, but she wrapped her arms around her midsection, holding herself together. Her hair stuck to her slick face, and she pushed it away with shaking hands. The cross over her heart seemed to pulse.

A quick check to her right confirmed that she hadn't woken her dorm mates. The faint green light filtering in from the dorm windows illuminated their slack faces, so still that they could have been dead. Porella had never really bothered to get to know any of them, had never wanted to, but she knew their names nonetheless: Anne-Marie, Jakarta, and Leah. None of them particularly special, none of them from old pureblood families.

In a sick sort of way, Porella couldn't help but envy them.

Quietly, she slipped on a cloak, stuffing her feet into slippers that were too large for her small feet. Wrapping her long, black hair over her shoulder, she held her flimsy garment closed, slipping into the common room as hurriedly as she dared. It was still early morning - four or five, if she had to guess - and no one would be up yet. Talc was always the first to be up, and he never woke until six.

The Slytherin common room was eerily silent; the black stone fireplace held only ashes in the grate, and the coals had scattered over the plush green rug. Sleek black sofas twice as long as her lay adjacent to a glass table, and a case full of silver goblets and artifacts was shrouded in ominous shadow. A portrait of a hag seemed to leer out at her from murky depths.

A sudden tapping on the door made her heart quicken, and Porella rose swiftly to her feet. The noise sounded suspiciously like talons. She drew her wand, crossing the common room to slide open the door just a crack. She was met with the ruffle of white feathers and a soft, indignant hoot. Porella could have sighed with relief.

"Azrael," she said aloud, pushing the door ajar. The small owl flew through, perching on the ledge of the sofa with as much stature as she would have thought possible. Porella shook her head, looking at the bird in bewilderment. "Why are you here so early?"

It was custom for students to receive their mail at breakfast in the Great Hall which, coupled with the fact that the Slytherin dormitory didn't have any windows above the lake to speak of, meant that Azrael must have been very desperate to reach her. With trepidation, Porella took the letter the little owl offered to her, unfastening it from Azrael's pompous leg.

She recognized the Yaxley family crest and flipped the letter open immediately.

_Porella,_ it read.

_By now you will have certainly reached Hogwarts, which means that I am already too late to warn you in person. As was evident by our dear mum's behavior at the Malfoy dinner party, our parents are none too pleased with me of late. From what I understand, dad told the others that he would have a child prepared to fight by the new year and, as I've failed my task, he has been publicly shamed. Nevertheless, there's still three months for him to make right of the wrong, and as I haven't been branded, his thoughts have turned elsewhere._

_ I'm sure that you understand what I mean._

_ As for Scorpius Malfoy, it would be wise for you to steer clear of him, at least in public. While you know that my fondness for Scorpius has never wavered, his disappearance from the dinner party was akin to treachery in the eyes of our parents. There's more to it, of course, but I doubt that I'm allowed to disclose all of the information to you, The point is that, assuming Scorpius is back at Hogwarts - which I have on good faith that he is - chances are that his parents have severed connections with him. I don't doubt that if you're seen hanging around traitors, our parents will not hesitate to do the same to you._

_ Keep your nose clean and your dirty laundry hidden._

_ Blake_

Porella reread the letter only once more, her mind committing the words to memory with an almost painstaking calm. She would not allow herself to panic, instead storing the information away for a later day. Jerkily, she rose to her feet, balancing the parchment carefully in her hand. She raised her wand. "_Incendio_."

The paper went up in flame, burning bright as a star. For just a moment, she could feel the burn in the palm of her hand, the heat searing her skin in blistering stabs of ecstasy. Azrael gave an alarmed hoot. And then, just as suddenly as it had started, it was over, leaving only a pile of black ashes in the palm of her hand.

Porella moved to the fire place, dusting the remains into the depths. She had just finished removing the last of the soot when a sudden prick on the back of her neck made her stiffen. A gut instinct told her that someone had been watching her, if only for a few moments, and she spoke without turning.

"Can I help you?"

"That depends." The voice was deep, an amused British with an undercurrent of something foreign in flavor. "Someone once told me that you were an avid quidditch player. Would you mind running a few plays by me?"

Talc Rosier blinked curious eyes at her, his hair damp from showering. His wet t-shirt stuck to his chest, and Porella could just make out the faint corded muscle from years of quidditch beneath. His eyes - an odd sort of gold, framed with thick black lashes - were almost too pretty, as was the rest of him, as if he had been sculpted from a buttery sort of copper. He smelled of spice and foreign tang, which always brought about a sort of sadness within her heart. He was all of the beautiful, faraway things that she would never be able to see.

"You got it, then?" she asked, her eyes falling upon the badge pinned to his chest. "Captain Talc Rosier." She whistled. "Quite a mouthful."

"No more than Captain Porella Yaxley." His smile was lazy, and he flopped gracelessly on to the sofa. "You're not too disappointed, I hope."

"Never." She examined her fingernails. "I only captain in the bedroom."

Talc let out a surprised sort of laugh, as if he was both embarrassed and impressed. His smile widened. "I had forgotten how brash you were."

"And I bet you thought that you were the luckiest bloke in the world," Porella said wryly. "But alas, my bluntness remains."

She noticed belatedly that he clutched a battered broomstick in one hand and a beater's stick in the other. What looked like a notebook was clamped firmly between his arm and chest, the back sticking out like a bizarre sort of wing. He wasn't suited up in gear, but then again, he rarely was; when they had first learned to fly together, Talc had worn only pants because he had insisted that anything else slowed him down.

She must have been smiling, because Talc's eyebrows narrowed. "What is it?" he said suspiciously, touching his face self-consciously. "Do I have shaving cream all over my face?"

"No."

"Then why are you smiling?" he demanded. "You never smile!"

Porella crossed her arms over her chest. "I can smile if I'd like."

"Yes, but you rarely do." Talc scrutinized her carefully. Porella, much to her surprise, had to resist the urge to squirm uncomfortably. She was used to boys looking at her - Merlin only knows, they had been since she turned fourteen - but the way he studied her was the way one might study a book: interested in a purely academic manner. "Oh, come on. Let me know."

"I was thinking of the first time we flew together," she admitted, shrugging. "You wouldn't wear gear. In fact, you wouldn't wear anything but pants and the occasional sock."

"That's right!" His smile was fond, and she could tell that in his mind's eye, he too was picturing a younger girl and boy. "Merlin, I was a right mess, wasn't I? Professor Longbottom tried to convince me to wear a uniform a dozen times, and I refused each one." He shook his head. "It was only when Scorpius hit me upside the head that I actually listened."

At his words, Porella felt an uncomfortable squirm of discomfort in the pit of her stomach. She prayed that it didn't show on her face. "Is he on the team this year?"

"Malfoy?" Talc asked, his eyebrows raised. "Sure. The three of us are always on the team together." Something must have flitted across her face, because he frowned once more. "Is there a problem?"

"Not at all," she lied smoothly, her lips curving upwards. "I was just looking forward to kicking his sorry arse in practice again this year."

"I wouldn't be so sure," Talc said, his voice warming with anticipation. "I've looked into several strategies that might just help his form..."

The next few hours were spent discussing various quidditch maneuvers, the two Slytherins weighing the pros and cons of each one. This was the type of conversation that Porella liked best: eliminating the impossible while attempting the implausible. She threw herself into the debate with relish, scribbling down ideas on Talc's parchment. And when the hustle and bustle of the Slytherin common room rose to a roar, nightmares about crows and letters from her brother were the farthest thing from Porella's mind.

* * *

The potions classroom reminded Porella vaguely of her family get-togethers: stifling, dark, and full of people that smiled while secretly wishing to be anywhere else.

The dungeons smelled of rot and stale chemicals, marinating for years beneath the damp cold of the black lake. Battered, dog-eared textbooks with stains on the front covers were sorted alphabetically in an old oak casing, and scrubbed wooden tables seating two people made a small army of furniture. Cauldrons crammed on to counter surfaces threatened to shatter on the floor, and ingredients spilled out of every nook and cranny in the dingy room. Things had not been organized since Professor Flint had arrived.

Flint was a squat shape of a man with a short, wiry black beard. His enormous glasses engulfed his face, enlarging his eyes several sizes so that every time he blinked, he reminded Porella of a bug. For being the Slytherin head of house, Flint was unusually timid and disorganized, traits that had earned him little respect and attention from his students.

"Now, listen here!" Flint's mustache positively quavered with barely concealed rage, and he stabbed a finger in the direction of his class. "This is a new year, and I expect it to be treated as such. With your upcoming examinations, seventh year is a busy, important time for all students of Hogwarts. You must keep yourselves organized-"

Out of the corner of her vision, Porella could see Scorpius Malfoy roll his eyes at the irony.

"-try your hardest, and pay your utmost attention." Flint surveyed them all beneath his untrimmed bush of eyebrows. "Is that clear?"

Porella nodded, more out of anticipation to begin than sympathy towards their professor. Several students around her did the same. Apparently satisfied, Professor Flint waved his wand, causing spiky words to appear on the board before them. Porella realized with relief that she recognized the potion as something she had learned over the summer with her parents. While it wasn't dark in property, it could be used for things that most of the wizarding community would have frowned upon.

"Ah." Next to her, Albus Potter seemed to have scanned the ingredients as well, and had now turned to face her. "It looks a little dodgy to me. I take it you know how to make it?"

Porella bristled. Despite the fact that she _did _know how to make it, she didn't need the likes of Albus Potter accusing her of dark magic. "Bugger off, Potter."

"Good." He grinned. "You do know, then."

Albus Potter was, in her humble opinion, easily the most annoying seventh-year Slytherin. With his dark, shaggy hair and green eyes, he was attractive enough to have gathered a small horde of female admirers, which most unfortunately included two of her roommates. Coupled with the fact that he and Scorpius Malfoy were best mates and he had Harry Potter for a father, Albus Potter's ego had swollen to ridiculous proportions. And if it wasn't inflated enough, Albus, as Porella grudgingly admitted, was also a talented quidditch player. Unfortunately, he played chaser, which meant that she knew him better than she wanted to.

"Why don't you just run along and have a nice chat with Scorpius?" she suggested, turning away from him to prop open the potions textbook. "I'll do the potion, and you can come back and join me when you've lost that pompous air of yours."

"Always so charming." He mildly pushed some gurdyroot towards her., wisely leaving them for her to chop. "Anyways, I've already seen Scorpius loads lately. Anymore and he might begin to rub off on me."

As far as she could tell, the two of them were pretty much the same person. But Porella merely shrugged, chopping the root into thin slices. "Well, if you're staying then you had better make yourself useful."

"How?"

"For starters," Porella said, pushing the ingredient back towards him, "you can chop the root."

To her surprise, he took it without complaint, grabbing a nearby knife before slicing it into perfectly even segments. He was faster than she had been, and his hands moved as if they had a mind of their own. He had been practicing over the summer, she realized, just as much as she had, if not more.

"Well?" Albus held up the roots for her inspection, his smile smug. "How did I do?"

Porella hardly looked at them. "Passable."

"Passable?" he echoed, his eyebrows shooting up. "What do you mean, passable?"

"I mean that you didn't mutilate them, Potter, so you're allowed to put them in the cauldron." Already, her patience was wearing thin, and she shoved the cauldron viciously towards him, splashing some of the water over the edge. "Here."

To his credit, Albus did exactly as she asked once more, never saying a word. There was a hiss as the acids from the gurdyroot struck water. Porella sighed, looking away from the concoction to peer around at the rest of the classroom instead.

Nearby, Scorpius was mutilating his own root, chopping it into thick, uneven slabs of pale lavender. His hands, however, were steady and, as he too had learned the potion over the summer with standards of excellence, Porella could only conclude that it was on purpose. Probably to defy his parents over the disownment.

Talc, who was sitting a few rows in front of her, was already on the third step. He had always shown an aptitude for potions, and considering the fact that his parents were never death eaters, it wasn't because he had learned the draughts ahead of time either. Porella couldn't help but be envious at the boy's skill, and she wished desperately that she had been partnered with him instead.

But, no.

"You're doing it wrong," she said without looking, listening to the crackle of the beetle shells as they struck the concoction. "It's supposed to be noiseless."

She could practically see him squinting at the directions. "But it doesn't say here that-"

"I just know." She turned, scooping out the glittering remains. She turned the potion several times clockwise before adding them back in again. The shells slipped silently beneath the surface, dissolving into the liquid. "There."

Albus' green eyes were unreadable. "I hope you don't expect me to say thank-you."

"Well, I wasn't going to say you're welcome." She smiled, baring her teeth. "I'm not really one for formalities."

They lapsed into silence, dutifully awaiting the fifteen minutes until they could complete the next step. Porella couldn't help but be distracted by the enticing smell of musky sandalwood and broom polish. Belatedly, she realized that it was coming from Albus, and she wrinkled her nose. He must have gone for a fly that morning with Talc.

Her eyes moved of their own accord to where the other boy was almost halfway done, his hands flying feverishly around the cauldron. Despite the harried activity, Talc looked entirely in control, a conductor amidst his orchestra of ingredients. Scorpius, on the other hand, had turned his potion a foul orange color. He looked positively gleeful. Porella bit her lip.

"Oh, come off of it." Albus looked at her in surprise. "You're not _worried _about him, are you?"

Porella quickly glanced away, training her gaze on the cauldron in front of her instead. The liquid had turned the same shade of green as Albus' eyes, indicating that they were halfway done their wait. "No. I was just making sure that he wasn't going to blow up half the castle."

"Rubbish," Albus said immediately, studying her intently. "You're legitimately concerned for him. I don't think I've ever seen anything like it." His tone was almost mocking. "My god, have you learned human compassion, Porella? Don't tell me you actually _care _about him-"

"Shove it, Potter," she snapped, desperately wishing that the potion was ready to stir. "You don't know anything."

"Oh, but I do."

Something in his tone made her look up in surprise. Albus' face was as neutral as usual, but something lurked in the depth of his green eyes. It was a sort of understanding, a promise that he did indeed know _exactly _what was going on, perhaps more than she did. It was the superior look that her parents gave her. Porella had seen it a dozen times before.

A thought hit her like a sack of bricks.

The knowing look in his eyes. The words he had spoken moments before, ringing clear as a bell.

_Anyways, I've already seen Scorpius loads lately._

"It was you." Porella's tone was half-accusing and half-impressed, although she loathed the latter part. Quickly, she glanced each way before leaning close, her lips inches away from his ear. "You were the one that smuggled Scorpius out of the party."

"I can't take all of the credit. My cousin Rose helped, too."

"He's been staying with you?" Porella rocked backwards, searching the depths of eyes. She could see nothing but plain honesty, and it scared her worse than if he'd been lying. "He left his family - his entire Slytherin name - to stay with the Potters?"

There must have been some note of disgust in her voice, because Albus' expression grew dark. "Do you have a problem with it?"

"Do I-" Porella could have hit him upside the head. "Yes, I have a problem with it, Albus Potter! Do you realize what you've done? Scorpius' entire inheritance is ruined for some pipe dream! No Slytherin with half a brain is going to associate with him now-"

"Why not?" Albus demanded. "Because he's decided to have a bit of moral decency? Because he doesn't want to kill people like the rest of you?"

"Don't," Porella said, her voice dangerously low. "You don't want to go there, Albus Potter. Especially not with me." He must have heard the venom in her voice, because he fell silent immediately. Porella drew a calming breath before continuing. "Anyways, Scorpius Malfoy is of old blood. They may have disowned him, but he's still going to remain loyal to his family, no matter how hard he struggles to do differently. Trust me, Scorpius is better off without the likes of you."

"Why?" Albus' voice was almost wry. "Because I'm a decent person who doesn't want to torture innocent people?"

"No," she said shortly. "Because you're the type of person who doesn't know how to separate love and doing what needs to be done. Albus Potter, you're going to get yourself killed, and you won't be taking Scorpius with you."

"Is that a threat?" His tone was mild, almost casual, but his knuckles had fisted on the table. The blood had drained from them, leaving angry red lines like knife-slashes in the expanse. "Are you seriously trying to threaten me?"

"I'm not _trying_," Porella said grimly. "I am."

There was a loud BANG, and their cauldron exploded.

Shards of bright copper flew through the air, shattering glass jars. Eyeballs fell to the ground, one after the other, splattering on impact. Students screamed as hot liquid spurted from the heart of the eruption, melting bronze and wood alike. Panicked students shrieked and dove beneath their desks.

Instinctively, Porella went for her wand. But as her hand lodged itself in her pocket, a large shard of copper came flying through the air, inches from her face. She closed her eyes, bracing herself, when somebody grabbed her around the waist. Her head hit the ground, hard, and the breath went out of her as a sudden weight landed on top of her. Hot breath hit her neck. She opened her eyes to see Albus Potter on top of her, his broad shoulders shielding her from the mess.

Porella blinked in astonishment. "What-"

"Reflex," he said gruffly, rolling off of her. "Don't flatter yourself."

"POTTER!" They both winced as Professor Flint's angry voice floated over the desk, cutting off the terrified screams of students. "YAXLEY! What is the _meaning_ of this?"

With some trepidation, Porella rose slowly to her feet, dusting the ash and flecks of copper from her robes. She could feel a long gash on her left cheek, and dry blood crusted in her hair. Albus looked equally as beat-up if not more, and she was certain they made quite a pair.

Albus shuffled his feet awkwardly. "Er, you see-"

"It was my fault." Porella was amazed to hear the words come out of her mouth, but as soon as she spoke, she found that she could not stop. "I wasn't paying attention to how long the cauldron had been sitting for, and I guess it exploded. I'm so sorry, Professor Flint. I swear that I'll clean it all up later."

Flint narrowed his eyes at her. Tiny flecks of copper had tangled themselves in his beard, and there was a streak of ash on his face. Similarly, the classroom was in shambles, dusted with a fine layer of black soot. Tables lay overturned from stampeding students, and at least a dozen smashed vials made any step a perilous one. Finally, Flint spoke, his calm voice adopting an uglier tone.

"Nice try, Ms. Yaxley. You're an accomplished student with a track-record of excellence. The fact that you could identify the mistake immediately only confirms my suspicions." His eyes, which had been previously trained on her, shifted just a few feet to her left. "Mr. Potter, I'll be seeing you this evening for detention. Don't be late."

* * *

_A/N: Read and review, please! I'll admit, it does motivate me to write._


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything affiliated with it. It all belongs to the talented J.K. Rowling_

_A/N: Thank-you all for the lovely reviews! For those of you requesting more Scorpius, I promise that he will appear, although maybe not as soon as you might be hoping. To see more of him, check out the companion novel _Lilium Ignis. _Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

The Slytherin common room was quiet that evening. Only the crackle of flames in the low grate could be heard, stained an eerie green by the light filtering in from the window below the lake. Many of the students were already in bed; only a few stragglers remained, the scratch of their quills on parchment drowned out by the fireplace. Porella had settled on to the low black sofa. Talc was seated across from her, prodding thoughtfully at a small figure in green quidditch robes. Upon closer inspection, Porella realized that that the figurine had long, dark hair.

"Is that me?" She leaned forward curiously, tapping it on the back. The figure glared at her. "Good Merlin, it is! How adorable. You have me in miniature."

"Don't flatter yourself," Talc said mildly, contemplating the table before him. "I have everyone."

"Kinky."

Finally, he looked up, his mouth quirked in a reluctant smile. "I'm trying to work on a strategy for this year, Porella. No kinkiness involved."

"That's what they all say." She shook her head, her attention captured once more as mini-Porella scowled, shaking her broomstick at what appeared to be Albus Potter. The latter figure had taken to poking her cheek with the end of his wand. "Please tell me that my nose isn't actually that large." When there was no response, she sighed, crossing her legs. "It's enormous! Why hasn't anyone said anything?"

Talc, who was entirely absorbed in his small army of Slytherins, ignored her. "Our first game against Gryffindor is coming up, which means that we need to be all about strategy. Gryffindor, as much as I hate to admit it, is raw talent. They'll beat us when it comes down to skill, which means that..."

Porella couldn't help but tune out, nodding occasionally as Talc continued his rant. She didn't mind sitting with the foreign boy - hell, if she was honest, she enjoyed it - but sometimes, she felt like he only spoke about quidditch. He definitely wasn't exactly a friend, although he was probably the closest thing she had to one. No other boy in Hogwarts treated her as much more than a potential shag, and while Porella didn't really mind, there were times when she wished that considered her with as much respect as Talc did.

"Yaxley."

Porella's head jerked up, her hand flying automatically to the cross around her neck. Talc, too, paused in his thoughts, although he remained stock still. Above her stood Arius Blackthorn, a burly seventh year. Every time Porella saw him, she couldn't help but think of an oversized rodent: yellowing teeth, short, dark hair, and breath that smelled like sewer. Unfortunately, he was both a family friend and a keeper on the quidditch team, which meant that there was no escaping him.

Except for when he tried to put his hand up her skirt.

"Blackthorn," she said coolly, moving her legs into a more chaste position. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your stimulating company?"

His eyes, which had followed her legs' movements, met her own steely gaze once more. "I have a letter."

"How fascinating," Porella said dryly. "Are you asking me to read it to you? Don't you think that it's time you learned for yourself?"

"No." His face had gone an odd sort of puce color, and he licked his lips. His small eyes darted anxiously to Talc, as if worried that his reputation might be soured. The latter boy looked on the verge of laughter, and Arius clenched his fists. "I have a letter for _you_."

"Is it a love letter?" she asked. "Because, no offense, but I'm not interested."

"It's from your _family_," he growled, hurling what looked like a sealed envelope at her face. Luckily, her chaser reflexes kicked in, and she snatched it out of the air mere inches from her face, frowning. Upon closer inspection, Porella could tell that it was sealed with magic. Only she would be able to open it.

The fingernail marks around the waxy seal told her that Arius had still tried.

"That will be all." She arched an eyebrow in Arius' direction, who was still leering at her unpleasantly. She tried not to squirm under his gaze. "Unless there's something else."

"There's not."

She waited a moment. Still, he did not move, and Porella sighed. "Alright then, _I'll _move." Without another word, she hopped lightly to her feet, leaving a horrified Talc and disappointed Arius behind. Her feet took her to the other side of the common room, where she sunk into a low sofa, examining the letter in her hands. She couldn't ignore the sudden slamming of her heart in her chest, and she drew a steady breath, hoping to calm herself.

When that didn't work, Porella ripped it open in one clean motion.

_My darling daughter, _it read.

_As you are by now well aware, your brother has recently failed to complete his mission. Coupled with the fact that Scorpius Malfoy has recently abandoned our ranks, we are at an unfortunate lack of young recruits to help further our mission to make blood pure. Your father and I have discussed the matter, and we believe that there is only one option left to us: you._

_ You have been officially out forward to the council as a candidate for the Dark Mark. It is an honor to receive one, and a blessing at such a young age as seventeen. Like your brother, you will have to prove yourself worthy of such a gift. The following are instructions straight from the heart of our council:_

_ Porella Yaxley, daughter of Irene and Victor Yaxley, and proud member of the Yaxley family: you have been given the opportunity to prove yourself worthy by completing a number of tasks. The previous includes:_

_swearing an oath in front of the council_

_holding our secret close to your heart_

_fighting by our side_

_proving your loyalty by spilling traitor's blood_

_ We look forward to seeing you in December over holidays to confirm your allegiance with a dinner party._

_ Burn this letter._

And that was it.

Her parents had not included a signature, although they didn't need to: Porella could have told you exactly who had written her from the first two lines. Her body felt suddenly too light, and her hands were shaking in her lap. Cold sweat, the same that clung to her skin after a nightmare, had broken out over her forearms and neck. But this was a nightmare that she couldn't escape.

She knew what her parents and the council had implied. It was never going to be a choice; their offer, however vague, was not much better than an ultimatum. She would have to join them, or they would disown her. Maybe even kill her themselves, considering the amount of training she had undergone. She would be considered too valuable a weapon to lose.

Could she do it? Would she kill another person, a _traitor_, in order to save her own life?

Three sharp knocks caught her attention.

Immediately, she thought of another owl, waiting outside the door for her. Another letter from her parents? Her brother? The council themselves? Unconsciously, her eyes sought a familiar face across the common room. When she caught his eye, Talc merely shrugged at her. He turned back to his quidditch figures.

Porella rose jerkily to her feet, moving to the large, stone double doors. She swiftly tugged at the handle with a flick of her arm, allowing the torchlight from the corridor to steal into the room. Silhouetted against the light was a tiny girl, a good head shorter than Porella. Her red-hair was escaping her braids with gusto, and freckles spattered her nose like tiny flecks of paint. She wore burgundy robes that looked out of place in the pale green light. Even in her foul temper, Porella couldn't help but smirk. Evidently, this girl was very, very lost.

"Who is it, Porella?" Talc called impatiently, no doubt irritated by the distraction in his quidditch strategies. Porella paused, studying the girl from head to toe. She came to an immediate conclusion.

"Just a Gryff." She grinned. "I don't know how it found the common room, though."

It was true; the Slytherin common room was not by any means a well-guarded secret, but that didn't make it easy to locate. You had to take a connection of five different corridors, each dimmer and slightly slimier than the last. It was a feat that this tiny girl had managed to find her way down without slipping and breaking her neck.

To Porella's dark amusement, her words seemed to further enrage the the indignant red-head. The girl crossed her arms over her chest, glaring up at her fiercely. Her expression was almost comical, the anger contrasting sharply with the pigtails that swung around her head. "Perhaps you need better security."

The irritated Gryffindor reminded Porella vaguely of a cat trying to play the part of a tiger, and she couldn't help but laugh. "I am the security."

"As I said, perhaps you should look into an upgrade."

_And the cat has claw_s, she thought in surprise, her eyes narrowing. From deeper in the common room, she could hear jeers and Arius' taunting laugh. It was rare that someone stood up to her, and when they did, it became a house-wide revelation. She could hear Talc chuckling deep in his throat, though he made no move to stand.

Porella studied the tiny red-head again, this time with more intrigue. She had nerve, Porella would give her that, and she looked oddly familiar somehow. It was something about the eyes, the slant and shape of them, and she felt as if they should have been green instead of brown.

It hit her almost immediately. "I know who you are. You're the Potter girl. Albus' sister." _Lily_, if she remembered correctly.

Lily looked at her suspiciously, twirling a stray piece of red-hair around her finger absently. "That's right."

"It looks like you've just missed him." Porella couldn't help but think of what Albus must be doing now. She sincerely hoped that he was cleaning out chamber pots, or something equally as horrible. The thought of Albus elbow-deep in brown slodge made her smile wickedly. "Even the famous Potter's must attend detention."

"Actually," Lily said loudly, "I'm here to see Scorpius."

Porella couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. "Scorpius?" she echoed. "Scorpius Malfoy?" While she was fairly confident there were no other Scorpius's in Slytherin (or any other house for that matter), the thought of the little red-head before her seeking pleasure in Scorpius Malfoy's company was almost impossible. But then she thought of the fact that Scorpius had spent the last few weeks at the Potter house.

_If Scorpius left his family to sleep with a Gryffindor, I'm going to kick his ass._

Lily puffed out her chest. "Do you need a blood sample, or can you let me in now?"

"No." _It's for your own good, little Potter. Scorpius Malfoy will eat you for breakfast_. "No Gryff's allowed."

"Oh, c'mon, Porella. Let the girl in." She was surprised to see Talc at her shoulder, peering at their visitor curiously. His quidditch strategies lay abandoned on the table behind them, and several first-years had already taken the opportunity to switch the player's names so that they read things like, "Poop-face," and, "Crack pot."

"That's not your call, Talc," she reminded him, her voice just a little too sharp. She forced herself not to soften it; if Talc had any idea why the girl was here, he would have been the first to agree with her that she ought to skip on back to Gryffindor tower. "She could be a threat."

"Doesn't look like much to me. But, if you're worried that she could take all of us, wandless by the looks of it, then be my guest. Don't let her in."

Sometimes, Talc was so kind and genuine that Porella forgot he was a Slytherin at all. But she supposed that was exactly what made him so dangerous: he was cunning when everyone least expected it. Nevertheless, he was currently blundering up the entire situation and, despite the fact that he was her quidditch captain, Porella wasn't going to let him undermine her authority, if only for the sake of the Potter girl.

"We'll talk about this later," she told him quietly, trying to convey with her eyes that there was far more to the discussion than he would believe. His gold eyes remained expressionless, although she thought that she might have seen the faintest twitch of confusion around his mouth. She nodded before turning towards Lily once more. "You have half an hour. Talc will show you where it is."

* * *

Despite the fact that she had burned the letter, her parents' words were still a constant companion over the next couple of days. They haunted both her sleeping and waking thoughts, burrowing into her brain like parasites. Her fingers seemed to burn, as if the ink itself had soaked through her skin. Every person became a target. Every class was an hour wasted.

Her mood, which she grudgingly admitted was irritable and snappish at the best of times, plummeted to an all-time low.

The Great Hall was filled to the brim with students that morning, their arms waving about excitedly. Moral had spread throughout the crowd, and first-years darted here and there like eager puppy dogs, their tails wagging behind them. Outside, rain dribbled down the soaring windows, and the ceiling of the Great Hall was a mushroom grey.

It was enough to make her ill.

"Porella! Porella Yaxley!"

She looked up from her porridge to find Talc grinning ear-to-ear, hurrying down the aisle to sit beside her. He was freshly showered, although a stain of mud behind his left ear gave away his earlier activities. Porella prayed that he had remembered not to leave his wet quidditch gear all over her things.

"You know," she said as he drew closer, setting down her newspaper, "I'm the only Porella in all of Hogwarts. I can recognize my name without the Yaxley part."

"Fair enough." He plopped down next to her, sending several first years scooting away with great haste. Absently, he stole a strawberry from her plate, chewing it thoughtfully. "'oo kno', Howar's foo's preey 'ood."

"Chew," Porella advised, placing a disgusted hand over his mouth. "Swallow. And then try again."

Talc smiled, inhaling the whole fruit in one go. "I said that Hogwarts food is pretty good."

"I guess."

"Well, maybe not as good as your fancy dinner parties, but still alright." Talc blinked sleepy gold eyes, drops of water still clinging to his eyelashes like crystals. Unintentionally, Porella's stomach flipped over. He suddenly reminded her of a tiger bating its prey.

"You've never been to one. How would you know?"

"I wouldn't." His fingers tapped a steady rhythm against the table. "But I've heard all about them."

Definitely bating her.

"Oh?" She arched an eyebrow, tossing her dark hair casually over her shoulder. Her hand played disinterestedly with the mush before her. "Do you know someone there?"

"Yeah. Your brother."

Her hand flew to her wand, and it was only with great restraint that she stopped herself from pulling it out. Talc's eyes followed her movement with the skill of a beater anticipating his opponent's next move. His face was relaxed, though she noticed that his hand had slid casually to his own robe pocket.

"Seriously?" she asked, her voice dangerously low. "If you think that I won't kick your arse here, in the middle of the hall, you could not be more wrong, Talc Rosier." Her free hand grasped his wrist. "Stay away from my brother. Stay away from Blake, stay away from me, and stay away from my family."

"Why?" His smile was pure amusement, as if she was a book that he found particularly interesting. "Because you're scared I'll catch on to your death eater cult?"

"_Piss off."_

"Albus told me what you said about Scorpius," Talc continued, unheeded. "I know you can't believe it, but he's better off now, Porella. Scorpius is _happy, _for the first time in his entire life maybe, and you could be too. Blake is worried about you. He wrote to me, explaining what your parents said to you-"

"He wouldn't."

"He _did_." To her surprise, Talc looked almost desperate. The mud was sliding down his neck, and yet he did not move to wipe it away, gripping on to her hand tightly instead. "Look, Porella, speaking as your friend-"

"We're not friends."

"-you can't let them mark you."

The words were like a slap to the face. Immediately, she drew back, her hands feeling suddenly cold. A quick glance around confirmed that nobody nearby was listening, although a knot of third-years had fallen silent in order to properly enjoy their sausage. The Blood Baron floated by, but he merely winked at her before drifting away.

That didn't mean that someone wasn't listening, though.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she hissed, swinging back around to face the solemn boy before her. "Talc, we're in the middle of breakfast-"

"Exactly. It's loud; nobody's going to hear a word we say."

The fact that he had considered his location of interrogation, even if just for a moment, calmed her considerably. Talc, for all of his straight-forward thoughts and opinions, was still a Slytherin. Conversations were still as delicate to him as they were to her.

"Porella." His hand, which she was still squeezing, untangled itself with a gentleness that surprised her. "Look, I don't want to scare you off or anything, but I don't know how else to help."

"You can't."

"What?"

"You can't help," she repeated, spearing a sausage viciously with her fork. Ketchup dripped off the end, pooling in a puddle of red on her plate. "It's kill or be killed. Survival of the fittest and all that."

She couldn't see his face, but the alarm in his voice was palpable. "Your parents wouldn't kill you."

"You're probably right," she said grimly. "They'd torture me, try to extract information, and then kill me." Seeing the expression on his face, Porella sighed. "I'm joking, Talc. I have no idea what they would do, but I can tell you that they would disown me. They might put me under house arrest, or else have me practice on small rabbits until I go insane and kill someone anyways."

"Would you?"

"I might kill myself." The sausage, which had dangled uneaten from her fork, fell into the pile of ketchup. She pushed it around, bathing it in the red. "But you know what?"

"What?"

"I don't think that I could do it. Kill another person, I mean."

The words tasted weak on her tongue. It sounded much more helpless aloud, saturated with uncertainty and indecisiveness. She refused to look at Talc, playing instead with the breakfast before her. She had spoken the truth, laid plain and simple before her. She didn't think that she could kill someone. But was it really better than the alternative? Hadn't her parents always told her: better to be the killer than the victim?

Talc drew a breath. "I think-"

But she was saved from exactly what he thought by a loud clattering sound nearby. Porella looked up just in time to see a red-faced Lucy Weasley scoop the remains of her breakfast back on to her plate, her hands blurring in their desperation. Sausage, eggs, and bacon were quickly plucked one by one off of the floor by the Gryffindor table, piled haphazardly on the china before her. Lucy's wand lay forgotten beside her.

To Porella's surprise, none of the other Potter or Weasley family offered to help her. And while Porella certainly wouldn't have in the situation, she couldn't help but think that most Gryffindors would have hastily risen to the occasion. Instead, Lily Potter had tears running down her face from laughter, clutching her sides as if she might fall apart. A mocha-skinned girl next to her was positively wheezing.

But still, Lucy did not desist. Instead, she finished silently gathering her breakfast, her cheeks bright pink, and then returned to her novel. It was as if she had gone deaf to her cousins' teasing. She had not apologized or tried to play off her accident, instead merely pretending it did not happen with startling grace. Porella couldn't help but think that Lucy Weasley might have made an alright Slytherin.

"Porella." Talc touched her shoulder, and she stiffened. "Are you still listening?"

Abruptly, she pushed back the wooden bench. The loud scrape of it gnawed at her ears, and Talc winced. She shrugged unapologetically. Reaching down, she grabbed her school bag, swinging it over her shoulder. The itchy wool fabric of her skirt was pushed up her thigh several inches. "I should go."

"What, now?" Talc frowned. "But-"

"I'll be late for class." Porella methodically readjusted books within the bag, pulling out her transfiguration text book. It tucked neatly beneath her arm. "I'll see you for quidditch practice later. I hope that you remembered not to leave your wet things on my uniform again."

"Of course," he said, "but before you go-"

"And for Merlin's sake, keep Albus Potter on a leash this time," she called, already turning to go. The _clack-clack _of her high heels echoed off of the stone tile. "I am not starting this year off with a broken nose again because the oaf forgot how to throw a quaffle."

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_A/N: Please Read and Review!_


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything affiliated with it. It all belongs to the talented J.K. Rowling_

_A/N: *insert cliche excuse about jobs being time consuming here*_

* * *

The energy was palpable.

Breakfast was spent in a small knot, forks and spoons forgotten, all seven heads staring directly at the table. Porella kept her broom wedged between her knees, as if the solidity of it might hold her steady. Talc was the only one already in his quidditch gear. His green uniform was freshly washed and pressed, although there were several holes in the forearm from years of use. None of them spoke: it was a sort of silent connection, as if there were an invisible string tethering them all together.

The Gryffindors, on the other hand, were anything but quiet. Porella could hear them jesting, boasting in loud voices, their laughter echoing off the stone walls of the Great Hall and invading their own calm silence like gnats. She gritted her teeth. Scuffed the toe of her shoe against the ground. Let her hair cover her ears.

Damned Gryffindors.

"Not nervous, are you?" Albus Potter grinned at her. "First game of the season." He leaned in closer, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. Porella caught a whiff of musky sandalwood. "You know, some people might take not eating as a sign of anxiety."

"Careful, Potter, your lack of intelligence is showing."

His smile dropped. The fork in his hand stabbed a piece of sausage. "Hopefully you finally managed to find a quidditch uniform that fits, or I won't be the one showing more than I ought to."

"Ah, but you liked the view."

"Not particularly."

"Well then," she said, raising her middle finger, "how about this one?"

"Will you two stop it?" Talc sighed, glancing up from his untouched plate. The bacon had been cut into perfect pieces, as methodical as potions class, but none were moved from their original spot. Talc massaged his forehead. "Merlin, get a grip. You need to work together."

"_We_ need to work together," Leah Collins piped up. "All three of us."

Porella studied her for a moment. She was looking at them both eagerly, her hands fluttering excitedly around her utensils like hummingbirds. Leah was petite, her heart-shaped face almost babyish, with wide blue eyes the color of cornflower. The only thing that ruined the perfect image was the slight crook of her nose, as if someone had twisted it to the side. After sharing a room with her for seven years, Porella knew exactly how much Leah's nose bothered her, and she couldn't help but think that Leah should just learn a spell to fix it and be done with it.

She opened her mouth to reply when a loud _bang_ went off across the hall. Quickly, she swiveled to look at the commotion, her hand flying to the cross around her neck. A boy in Gryffindor quidditch robes stood on top of the wooden table across the hall, his foot drenched in what looked like pumpkin juice. He was apparently oblivious, leading the rest of the house in what looked like some sort of bizarre victory chant. His arms were thrown wide like a conductor.

Porella studied him more closely. Mocha-skin, brown eyes, messy hair. He wore his elbow guards loose, as if he had no need for them, and his uniform was left untucked. Against regulation standards, and no doubt on purpose. He would have a small group of admirers in Gryffindor.

"Zeek," Talc sighed, following her gaze. "Fifth-year Gryffindor chaser. He's about as good as they come, but not really one for subtlety. His ego could power several small villages."

"Idiot," Porella said, and was surprised to hear Scorpius do the same. They grinned at one another fleetingly. Then, reality hit her like a sack of bricks, and she looked away sharply. "How good is he?"

"Good enough that he's a concern," Talc said. "Watch for his feints to the left. They're fast, but if you can catch them in time, then he shouldn't be a problem."

On that cheery note, the Slytherin team rose from their uneaten breakfasts, moving briskly as a unit towards the change room. Porella could feel Arius' hot, putrid breath on the back of her neck, and she was thankful that he would be near the hoops during the actual match. Talc was walking up ahead with Slate, the other beater on the team, talking eagerly about strategy. Leah was murmuring to herself, and Scorpius was walking with Albus, muttering to him in a low voice.

Which left Porella on her own. Not that she minded, really.

They reached the changing rooms in record time, stripping their skirts off in favor of streamlined trousers. Leah scooped her hair up and away from her face, but Porella left her own dark curls down. All the better to hide which way she was looking. When she emerged, dressed, on to the field, she caught Arius leering at her. So maybe Albus had been right about her needing a new uniform. She would have to keep that in mind.

Talc led them to a tall tower, which he explained would be used as a holding area. Then, when the commentary started, they would fly out one by one, accompanied by a brief introduction. It was standard, formal. Porella nodded, already only half-listening, and by the time Talc had finished, she was distracted completely.

Through the opening of the flap, she could just make out tiny figures swarming the stands like ants. It was a sea of burgundy and green, with only the occasional yellow or blue dotting the crowd. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw had taken sides and, just as she had suspected, most had chosen Gryffindor.

"You've been avoiding me."

Porella felt her heart falter. Praying that she didn't look as nervous as she felt, Porella turned to face Scorpius. She raised a cool eyebrow. "What makes you say that?"

"I can tell."

"Well, I can tell that you're an idiot, then." She turned back towards the curtain, pretending to study the field. "I'm sorry if I haven't been keeping up with our regular afternoon tea schedule. I've been too busy trying out satanic spells in my bedroom."

The sarcasm could have cut through steel. It was laid on thick, _too_ thick, and she could tell that Scorpius knew it. "Porella, I know that you're upset that I cut off my connections from my family-"

"It's none of my business."

"No, it's not." His lip curled upwards. "But for some reason, you seem to care an awful lot. Albus told me how angry you were in potions. Sending him to detention, threatening Lily Potter when she came to visit me..." He made a tsking sound. "Someone might think that you actually _cared_."

Porella felt her blood go cold. But all she said was, "Potter sent himself to detention through his own stupidity. And no Gryffindors in the common room, Malfoy."

"As you said, it's none of your business."

"It is when they're _in the common room_." She whirled around, a sudden rage filling her. One finger poked him hard in the chest, forceful enough that she could tell he could feel it, even through his protective gear. "Look, Scorpius, I don't like Potters in general. I put up with Albus because he somehow managed to trick the sorting hat into thinking that he's a Slytherin, but I don't want Lily Potter anywhere near me again. I don't want her in the common room. I don't want any of your other Gryffindor pets in the common room. Is that understood?"

Her mind, already scrambled, was on the letter that she had finally burned in the fireplace a few nights ago. Her mother's words, so plain and simple. _Prove your loyalty by spilling traitor's blood_. What would her mother say if she were to find out about Porella being within ten feet of Scorpius Malfoy? What conclusions would she draw if she had seen her speaking with Lily Potter?

Scorpius' grey eyes had grown dark. As lean as he was, his height gave an intimidating presence, and she had to concentrate on not backing down. "You're being irrational. Look, most Slytherins are fine with having a Gryffindor in the common room. Albus said it was great if-"

"Oh, yeah?" she asked. "And how does Albus feel about you screwing his sister?"

The blood drained from his face. "I'm not sleeping with her."

"Sure," Porella snorted. "You keep her around because you enjoy her company."

Scorpius stared at her for several seconds. Just when she thought that he was going to draw his wand and hex her, his face smoothed over. Grey eyes swept over her face intently. He blinked several times, as if a thought had just occurred to him. Then, against all rational explanation, Scorpius Malfoy smiled. "You seem to be thinking a lot about how this must make Albus feel. Are you quite certain that you dislike all Potters, Porella?"

She was saved a response by the fuzzy crackle of the loudspeaker, the feedback startling several people down below. An angry string of cuss words followed. Porella peeked through the curtain once more and, sure enough, Derick McNair had taken over the commentator's stand. McNair was a slick fifth-year Slytherin, the kind with gelled hair and, in her personal opinion, a face like a rat. She wouldn't have trusted him to bring her breakfast. He was the type of person to poison it just for kicks.

"He's not supposed to be commentating." Leah frowned, moving to stand by Porella's shoulder. "Jakarta told me this morning that it was a seventh-year Hufflepuff. What does McNair think he's doing?"

The boy down below was clearly enjoying himself. Several of the Gryffindors had turned angry shades of puce, and what looked like a member of the Weasley family had launched herself at the box, curls flying wildly. Derick took it all in with a smug smile. He leaned close to the microphone, his magnified voice echoing through the stands.

"Ladies and Gentlemen: welcome to the first game of the season. It is my delight to announce that I will be commentating for this match, as the previous commentator has come down with an, er, unfortunate case of boils." Derick looked like he didn't think it was unfortunate at all. "Please enjoy yourself for the next two minutes before the blood bath begins."

The Slytherins cheered loudly. Porella could have smacked them all. For a house supposed to be full of cunning people, the number of Slytherins she had met with a reasonable amount of intelligence were woefully slim. As if reading her mind, Talc groaned.

"Idiots," he said, coming up behind her. "The lot of them. Gryffindor's going to think that we knocked out the commentator, installed McNair, and are now applauding our own success."

Porella turned to face him. "We didn't give the commentator boils, then?"

"Of course not," he said. "I would have been a little sneakier about it."

The four of them stood like that for a moment, locked in a tight group at the edge of the tower. A breeze ruffled the flap, making her view of the crowd dance in and out of her vision. The mounting anticipation had set into her bones. Down below, she could hear McNair's taunts, accompanied by the loud roar of the crowd. It was time. The beginning of the match.

As if spurred on by her thoughts, Derick began the preliminary speech. The crowd quieted. There was a sort of nervous energy among them that Porella could feel even high above, as if they had formed one body. Then the music swelled and Arius was off, spurred on by McNair's words and the cheers of the crowd. He did his usual routine: a trick here, a fancy-looking dive there, and then parked himself by the hoops.

Porella knew who was next.

"And now, once more from Slytherin, chaser _Porella Yaxley_."

She barely heard the roar of the crowd as she kicked off, launching herself into the air. The cool breeze ripped through her hair. The cross, hidden beneath her gear, seemed to plaster against her skin. Immediately, her mind was making calculations, whether to prepare or to take her mind off of the eyes on her, she didn't know. Wind going four miles North. Clear skies. Slight humidity, but nothing to worry about.

"Yaxley has been the center of many people's discussions over the past few weeks," McNair said, his voice echoing through the stadium. "She's been pegged as the one to watch, although we've already seen her in action since third year. Unfortunately, she's known as a bit of a one-trick pony. But who knows? Maybe she'll finally try something new."

_Sure. Maybe I'll try smashing your head in._

Derick went on to make several lewd comments, all of which she ignored. Porella was in her element. She could feel the slight hum of the broom between her legs, responding to the slightest touch. She took a steep dive, relishing in the uplift as she did so. It was still rustier than she would have liked, a result of her parent's disapproval of quidditch, and she wished once more that she could practice over the summer.

"Yaxley is a talented player in everything that she rides," Derick continued, his voice growing smug, "and I'm not just talking about brooms, blokes."

Porella really was going to kill him.

Instead, she kept an even expression, giving the Slytherin section a jaunty wave. A fourth-year boy clutched a banner with her name on it written in sparkling red, and she couldn't help but smile, blowing him a kiss. Several of the nearby male spectators called out. One was definitely staring at her bum.

She should really order a new quidditch uniform.

Finally, she finished her introduction, hovering in the center of the pitch as she waited. Talc was called next. Then, Leah and Slate, both of whom merely flew a lap before converging in the middle. Albus lingered a little longer, doing the occasional trick or wave. He looked almost sheepish though, as if embarrassed by the attention. And yes, as he drew closer, Porella could see the relief written on his face that it was over.

Scorpius made his usual dramatic entrance. She watched curiously as he strolled to the edge of the Slytherin alcove, his arms raised as if he could fly with sheer force of will. The light caught the blonde in his hair. Then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, Scorpius stepped off the edge.

Girls screamed, their shrieks reaching ear-splitting levels. Panic rippled through the crowd. Albus' face had blanked, and his eyes were fixed on Scorpius with a sort of horror. Porella internally debated flying to get him. She could have probably reached him before he hit the ground, but Scorpius wasn't stupid. And, just as she had suspected, a broom landed neatly beneath him, catching him mid-air.

The crowd was on their feet, screaming their approval. People were shrieking, crying, clapping as the blown-up image of Scorpius was projected over the crowd. McNair was yelling something over the ruckus, pointing at where the Slytherin seeker had stood moments ago. The few lucky spectators with omnioculars were rewinding, watching the scene once more with gasps of astonishment.

"Tosser," Albus muttered, although it was said with more than some relief. "He's going to get himself killed one of these days."

Porella surprised herself by nodding. A guilty sense of relief had filled her as well. "I don't doubt it."

After Scorpius' entrance, the Gryffindors' arrivals paled in comparison, although Porella noticed that they didn't bother to do tricks. Instead, they flew directly to their spots, ignoring Derick's spiteful comments as if they were deaf to them. Only Lily Potter caused a ruckus by flying directly into McNair, effectively knocking him out cold.

Porella couldn't help but grudgingly smile. As rash as Gryffindors were, they knew how to get things done.

The formation was set up. Whistle blown. Balls released. And they were off, just like that, twisting and turning through a whirlwind of human bodies and bats. It was as if Albus, Leah and her own brooms had suddenly become connected. They moved as a single force of motion, anticipating the others' moves as if it was their own. Porella could instinctively tell when Leah was going to dive. Albus flicked his left wrist automatically when making a long pass. She didn't even think about it anymore, just followed, praying that her broomstick would guide her.

It wasn't long before the game turned vicious.

Porella veered sharply to the left to avoid a well-placed bludger from one of the Gryffindor beaters, twisting so that she hung upside down in the air. The metal ball kissed her knuckles, and if she had been sitting upright, undoubtedly would have knocked her off the broom. The quaffle still clutched safely in her hands, she swung back up, speeding towards the Gryffindor hoops. She could feel Albus flanking her on the left. Leah was stuck somewhere, and her right side felt empty, though she ignored it best she could.

Hugo Weasley was guarding the hoops. He was an intimidating six-foot-two, with broad shoulders and cropped hair. Most of the time, he was Lily Potter's sidekick, but up here, he was a respected opponent. His eyes followed her movement with hawk-like determination, and she swooped in, ready to throw it-

To her left. Albus caught it, raised it, and threw it towards the far right.

The crowd exploded with excitement as the ball arced through the hoop, effectively tying the score. Albus grinned and she couldn't help but laugh, her elated giggles ripped away by the wind. The cuts and scrapes on her face hurt like hell, but they were tied now, and they had a shot at winning. Talc slapped her on the back as she passed. Leah, who looked slightly put out that she had missed the big score, shot forward. Porella dropped back behind her once more.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that Slate had hit a bludger at Lily Potter, more out of frustration than anything else. The younger girl ducked, red hair flying through the air as she flattened herself to the broom. The bludger passed safely overhead. To Porella's surprise, Lily turned angrily on Slate, her face red from yelling. Belatedly, Porella realized that she hadn't been holding the quaffle.

"Oi!" She broke ranks with her fellow chasers, steering her broom towards the beater. "What the hell do you think you're doing? Because unless it's disqualifying us, it's not working!"

Slate seemed undisturbed by her yelling. The beater bat shifted eagerly between his hands, vibrating as if it held a life of its own. "She was in my way."

"Yeah, that's part of the game." Porella scowled. "Next time, try to knock her off and make it look more like an accident, yeah? It's a little obvious when you hit a bludger at her face."

"Touchy, touchy." Slate smiled, his pointed teeth showing. "Somebody might think that you have a soft spot for Potters, Yaxley."

"That's the second time that someone has accused me of liking Potters today," she growled. "Make it a third, and I'll smash your face in."

The sudden roar of the crowd caught her attention. Lily Potter was flying triumphantly towards the Slytherin end, the quaffle clutched beneath her arm. The closest green-robed player was at least ten feet away, and she could tell that Lily knew it. The red-head was grinning widely. Porella had seen enough of Albus' strategy to know what her plan was. And, just as Porella had known she would, Lily feinted and then tossed the quaffle straight through the center goal.

The stands below exploded into deafening applause. Porella's loud profanity was silenced, although she was sure that Slate could still hear her words. She spared only a glare before hightailing it in the opposite direction, moving straight for Albus and Leah. The latter clutched the quaffle in steady hands, and she tossed it to Albus, who hesitated only a fraction of a second before handing it back. It sailed through the far hoop on the left.

Gryffindor tried once more to score, but Arius was enraged. As if spurred on by his failure against a petite red-head, he threw himself into the match with ferocious force, blocking everything that came into his path. Porella managed to put one more past Hugo Weasley, although he, too, was growing more determined. Slytherin was up by ten points. But none of them could be sure how long it would last.

Suddenly, Lily Potter broke ranks.

While it wasn't entirely uncommon to abandon your fellow chasers - Porella had just done so moments ago - at a crucial moment such as this, you never left your team. But there Lily went, flying in the opposite direction. Her broom pointed upwards. She rose a few feet before turning and, as if it was not out of the ordinary in the slightest, came to rest beside Scorpius Malfoy.

Scorpius, for his part, didn't look pleased by the situation. He made a gesture that clearly meant that she was supposed to bugger off. But Lily remained steadfast, her expression one of sheer determination. She leaned in closer to speak to him. His eyebrows rose. She nodded, shifting on her broom-

The bludger came out of nowhere.

Like a bat out of hell, it shot directly for Lily's head, a heat-seeking missile on a mission. Porella noticed it halfway across the field. Nobody else seemed entirely concerned, their gazes locked on the unfolding drama above them. But Porella could tell that it was no ordinary bludger. Black magic rolled off of it in waves.

Automatically, her hand flew to her pocket, closing around her wand. Her right hand fisted on the wood of the broom, she shot through the air, heading directly towards the splash of red hair above her. She couldn't outrun the bludger. It was impossible: they were built faster, heavier, and with more weight than brooms. Quidditch players were meant to move away from them, and there was no way that Lily was going to hear her in time.

She wasn't going to be able to get much closer. The bludger was feet from Lily and, although her aim would be horrendous from this distance away, it was the only shot she had. Porella drew her wand, pointing it at the speeding bludger, her mouth forming words-

There was a deafening _crack._

Porella recoiled as Lily's head struck metal. Immediately, the younger girl crumpled like a rag doll, falling from her broom. From far away, Albus called out, his horrified yelling echoing through the stands. Leah's hands were at her mouth. And Talc and Scorpius had both dove, their arms outstretched.

Scorpius, the closest to Lily, caught her first. He cradled her lifeless form in his arms, sinking slowly to the ground. Immediately, he was surrounded by people, students and staff alike. Porella caught sight of several Weasley children, impatiently pushing their way through the crowd. Lily's face was covered in blood.

"Nice." Porella turned to see Slate grinning at her, his beater bat clutched in his hands. "I'll admit, I didn't think that you had it in you."

"Excuse me?"

"You know." He shrugged. "I thought that you were full of bullshit. You have this whole tough girl act, but you never really put out. But just now? Most bad ass thing that I've ever seen."

"You'll have to speak English," Porella said coolly. "I don't understand troll."

He didn't look upset, though. Slate was still grinning, as if his birthday had come early. A massive paw-like hand found her shoulder. "Lily Potter. I saw that you had your wand out. Good on you."

"For what?"

"Cursing her," he said. "What else?"

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_A/N: _Please, please, please read and review! I want to hear all of your lovely thoughts on what should happen next and who you like best so far!


	5. Chapter 5

_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything affiliated with it – it all belongs to the talented J.K. Rowling!_

_A/N: Sorry for the late update, everyone! Although I haven't stopped writing, I have been without wi-fi for almost a week now. Updates should become regular after this, with about a chapter every week being the norm. In the mean time, please enjoy!_

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Porella made a split second decision as soon as her feet touched the ground.

She shucked her broom into the nearest bush, promising herself that she would come back later. The throng of people around her were screaming, gasping, horrified at the events had occurred. Lily Potter had been taken off the field in a levitated stretcher. Her red locks had fallen into her face, making it impossible to tell what was blood and what was hair, but from the sound of the impact, Porella was certain that it had been mostly the former.

She pushed her way through the labyrinth of bodies, shouldering people out of the way impatiently. Nobody tried to stop her. She realized with relief that Slate had either been trying to get a rise out of her, or nobody else had seen enough to draw the same conclusions. Still, her wand felt heavy in her pocket, and she moved as noiselessly as she could.

A sudden flash of Slytherin robes near the edge of the stands caught her attention. Immediately, she broke into a run, ignoring the dark strands of hair in her face. Her legs pumped harder. Her pinwheeling arms pushed her faster. The pitch was long, much longer than she had expected, and when Porella arrived, she was out of breath. Her hands went to her necklace as she sucked in lungfuls of oxygen.

The back of the stands was quieter; shadows cast from the slant of the seats shrouded the brown of the trodden dirt in darkness. A forgotten beater's bat lay partially hidden from view beneath an old oak tree. Only the distant calls of birds in the forbidden forest could be heard, competing with the fading chatter of the crowd. A single flower poked, forlorn, through the dust.

"You shouldn't be here."

Porella's hand dropped from her necklace to her wand. Leah Collins stood in the noon sunshine, squinting to see Porella in the shadow. Her tiny hand was raised to shield her eyes. Porella gripped her wand more securely, her sweaty palm making it difficult. "Where are they, Leah?"

Leah started towards her. "Porella-"

"Where?"

"You shouldn't have to see it," she said adamantly. "It's a mess. You'll only get yourself hurt."

Perhaps it was the authority with which Leah spoke, as if Porella was a naughty child that was about to burn her hand on an oven. Perhaps it was that Porella didn't like being ordered around in the first place. Whatever the reason, Porella was by her side in a second. Her wand was pointed at the other girl's chest. "I'll ask one more time nicely, and then we'll do it the hard way. Where are they?"

Leah, whose eyes had gone wide as she took in the weapon, gestured towards a darker part of the stands. Porella immediately took off in that direction, leaving Leah behind in her wake. As she drew nearer, she could hear the muffled grunts and scuff of shoes on dirt. There was the sound of foot connecting with flesh. And then, as her vision adjusted, she could see the struggle.

Hugo Weasley had Slate in a headlock. The beater's knee kept repeatedly smashing into his stomach, but the broad-shouldered boy refused to drop him. Arius and Albus were trading blows. As she watched, frozen, they circled one another. Arius' stained yellow teeth were bared in a grim smile, and Albus' expression was stony. Then, Arius lunged, his fist connecting with the other boy's face.

"Oh, brilliant." Porella drew her wand once more, starting forward. "Just absolutely, bloody brilliant."

With a flick of her wand, she separated the first two, sending Slate flying backwards into the seats. Hugo managed to stay on his feet, although he was swaying. Blood loss, she guessed. There were multiple open sores on his face, and several on his arms. He frowned as he caught sight of her.

"Oi-"

"Don't tell me to get lost because I'm a girl," Porella said, "or I'll punch you in the face."

With another incantation, Albus and Arius were forced apart, the latter's hands bound in rope. He looked worse for the wear: a large cut ran down his leg, and what looked like a large bruise had begun to purple on his neck. But he had mostly been on the offensive, and so it was Albus that she was concerned with.

"What the hell were you thinking?" she demanded, moving forward to seize his arm. It was bare, unscathed, but he winced when she bent it. "Fighting like some sort of street gang. You're all idiots! Do you realize how many house points you could have lost us? And for what?"

Albus scowled. "Slate and Arius-"

"Hurt Lily?" she snapped, poking sharply at a bruise on his shoulder. He grimaced. "Enchanted a bludger? Did they? Do you know that? Do you have absolute, _certain_ proof?" Silence. Blank stares from all four boys. She sighed. "That's just brilliant."

"Er." Hugo shuffled his feet awkwardly. "Can I go now? Or do you want to chew me out too?"

Porella glared at him. She noticed that he took an automatic step backwards, shrinking down as if he could hide his massive frame from her within the shadows. Slate did not look pleased by his approach, but made no move. She had a sneaky suspicion that the boy wasn't eager to be put in another headlock.

"You're all dismissed. Now, go." She jerked her chin towards the castle. "Except for you, Potter. You're staying with me."

The other three boys slunk back towards the pitch quickly, moving towards the front steps beyond. Slate and Arius were careful to keep a wary distance from Hugo. The gryffindor seemed to have no problem with this, skirting the edge of the lake in order to avoid them. Porella turned back to Albus. He was watching her impassively.

"I suppose this is the part where you kill me and leave my body parts in the woods."

Porella stowed her wand back in her pocket. "If I had wanted to kill you, Potter, I would have let Arius finish you off. Come on." She sighed, grabbing hold of his forearm as she moved away. "Follow me."

They walked in silence as they rounded the corner. Leah was long gone; only the lone bat remained, rolled into the sunshine by the vibrations of the boys' steps. It was a few feet from the flower now, forming a sort of unlikely friendship. Porella and Albus cast noon shadows across the pair as they went.

She led him through the castle door and into the infirmary hallway. Eventually, she stopped at the door to the Hospital Wing. Albus raised an eyebrow. "I didn't need an escort to see Madam Pomfrey, you know. I could have walked here by myself."

Porella pushed open the door. "You won't be seeing Madam Pomfrey. You'll be seeing me."

"You?" His voice was the epitome of shock. "You're going to be treating me?"

"Don't look so surprised, Potter." She allowed him a rare smile, moving to the back storage room. Her hands ran down the labeled drawers, pulling out bandages and gauze with almost automatic motions. "Talc and I are in Alchemy and Magical Theory together. I'm studying to be a healer."

"Really?" The surprise hadn't left his voice. Upon seeing her expression, he cleared his throat. "I mean, that's really neat. My cousin Rose wants to be a healer, too."

That was the last thing that Porella wanted to hear. Competition to be a healer was fierce, and anyways, she didn't want to share more than a name with Rose Weasley. Nevertheless, she decided not to argue, if only for the sake of some peace and quiet.

The Hospital Wing was blissfully empty that day. Sun streamed in through the large glass windows, illuminating the stark white sheets of the rows of abandoned beds. Just as Porella had suspected, Lily Potter's injuries had been bad enough that she had either been moved to St. Mungo's, or Madam Pomfrey had decided to see her on location for fear of jostling her. Likely the latter, considering the matron's disappearance. Lily wouldn't be transferred to the wing for at least another hour.

"What are you doing?"

Belatedly, Porella realized that her hands had still been working, grinding and pasting and stirring. Albus was looking at her carefully. Not as if he was afraid that she might accidentally poison him, but more as if he was worried that she might do it intentionally.

"It's a salve for your eye," she explained, showing him the goopy substance. "You took a bad hit. It's already bruising, and I won't be surprised if it swells, too."

"Swelling is bad?"

"Well, I suppose if you like to see things, then yes." Porella crushed in a bit of lavender. "It shouldn't be too bad, though. We caught it early on."

There was a moment of silence, broken only by the mashing of her wooden spoon. Albus took a seat on an unused bed. His legs swung awkwardly beneath. "Not to sound like a complete prick, but why exactly are you helping me? I mean, I get why you stopped the fight - house points, and all that - but this part?" He gestured at the bowl in front of her. "Why bother?"

Porella stopped mashing. "You really want to know?"

"Yeah."

"You want to know why I'm helping you?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Me too," she sighed, picking up the spoon once more. "I don't know, Albus. Maybe it's because you haven't been a total toe rag lately. Maybe I feel bad that your sister got knocked in the head." She shrugged. "I probably just prefer you over Arius Blackthorn, which isn't that big of an achievement, to be honest."

To her surprise, Albus grinned. "So you do like me."

She didn't bother to answer. Instead, Porella summoned a stool with a wave of her wand, sliding it nearer to the dark-haired boy. She gingerly lifted the lavender mixture to his face. "This is going to sting."

"I can handle it."

"No, I mean that there's gurdy root in it. It's going to _sting_." To demonstrate her point, she slapped a little near the outside of his eye. Just as she had suspected, Albus flinched. Porella couldn't help but smile. "And you didn't believe me."

She didn't bother waiting for him to recover, instead smearing the rest on in one go. Albus let out a howl of protest, but she didn't stop. Porella had earned herself a black eye on more than one occasion, and she knew from experience that it was better to get it over with.

Eventually, Albus blinked. He lightly touched his cheekbone. "I think this is the part where I thank-you, although I have the feeling that you enjoyed that just a little too much."

"What can I say?" Porella smirked. "It was my duty as a healer in training."

They sat in silence for a moment. She stood, moving to the small sink in the back where she rinsed out the bowl. It was as methodical as her preparation: muggle soap, wizard scrub, cleaning charm, rinse. Simple steps, one after the other, a relentless pattern. She had hardly noticed that Albus was speaking until he said her name.

She glanced over. "What?"

"I said that I owe you." His green eyes, usually so bright, were surprisingly solemn. They had darkened to the same color as his uniform. "Whatever you need-"

"Careful." Her voice was light, but there was something in it that gave both of them pause. "Promises are dangerous, especially in my world."

She didn't say it, but she could tell that he had understood. _The pureblood world._

"You know-" Albus hesitated. Then, his shoulders squared, as if he had suddenly committed to something. "I'm a pureblood. My mother and father are both magical, and yet, I would never set foot within ten feet of Arius Blackthorn if I could avoid it."

_It's a choice,_ his eyes seemed to say. _You have a choice._ No, she didn't, Porella wanted to tell him. There had never been a choice.

"Your paternal grandmother," she said instead, placing the bowl back neatly. "She was muggle-born. Do you know what my grandmother was?" Albus frowned, but said nothing. Porella smiled wryly. "A witch. And her mother was a witch before her, and her mother before that. My entire family has been magical since as far back as our tree stretches. If there's a squib, they've been blotted out. If someone married a muggleborn, they were erased too. Poof. Burned out. There one instant, then gone the next."

Albus was studying her silently. The expression on his face was uncertain, as if she were a bomb waiting to explode. He didn't want to tip her the wrong way. "Porella-"

"Forget it." There was a sudden hollowness in her chest, as if a part of her had suddenly been snatched away. She had been too open, too vulnerable. Her cards were laid on the table. It was a mistake that she hadn't made in a while, and she wasn't eager to make it again. "I'm talking aloud. Ignore me."

"_Porella-_"

"Will you stop that?" she snapped. "It's irritating me."

"Stop what? Saying your name?"

"Yes." No longer able to pretend to still be putting the bowl away, Porella placed her hands on her hips. Her mouth was twisted in distaste. "It sounds like a pretentious harlot. How would you like it if your parents had named you _Atticus,_ or- or _Montgomery_?"

His lips twitched. "My middle name's Severus. Does that count?"

"No. At least one of your names is alright," she sighed. "My middle name is Rose. That means that I can't go by either because of your damned cousin. She stole my name."

"She was born in May."

"I was born in April." Porella's lips twitched reluctantly. "I win."

They sat in silence for a moment. It was almost companionable, the sort of silence that is contemplative. The light caught the greens in Albus' eyes. Once more, she could smell the musky sandalwood and broom polish. She had begun to suspect that it wasn't just because he had been out playing quidditch; the smell was just undoubtedly Albus.

"I'm going," she said at last, rising to her feet. "Don't mess up my healing job, Potter."

"I'll try my best," he said. "Oh, and one more thing." Porella stopped, one hand on the door. Albus smiled. "Thanks for the help, Elle."

* * *

The third letter addressed to her came in a matter of days.

This one, luckily, came in with the rest of the mail. Hundreds of tawny, speckled, brown owls swooped over head, littering the tables with packages and parcels. Students exclaimed with delight over pasties and cauldron cakes. A second-year farther down the table sighed in relief as he unwrapped a potions textbook, undoubtedly forgotten at home. It was one of the first mail deliveries of the year, an awe-inspiring event for the first-years and a celebration for the rest of the students.

Not so much for Porella, though.

She recognized Azrael with a sudden sinking feeling in her gut. The owl ruffled white feathers, blinking sleepy tawny eyes as he landed. A foot was proffered to her. Swallowing back any hesitation, Porella unravelled the ribbon from Azrael's talons. The ribbon was green, and the stamp was unmistakeable. The messy scrawl was as familiar as her own blue eyes.

Blake's handwriting.

_Porella_, it read.

_Mum and Dad have taken to monitoring my mail, and I haven't much time. But I wanted to be the one to tell you: the word bouncing through the death eater ranks is that you have successfully completed your task. From what I understand, your stunt with Lily Potter has earned you a one-way ticket into the heart of the resistance itself. The council has it on good authority that several people saw you curse Lily Potter; they're going to count it as an _assassination _attempt, Porella. It's on the records that you attempted to kill Harry Potter's child. That's beyond anything that they were expecting, and I doubt that's a good thing for you._

_ I'm doing everything in my power to try and delay the ceremony, but the council is impressed. They're solidifying details as we speak. So far, the date is set for December. Don't write mum and dad about it under any circumstances. Mum is proud of you, but dad is furious that you pulled such a public stunt. I have to admit, I don't understand why you did it; you're not usually that reckless. We need to talk when you come home for holidays._

_ Looking forward to seeing you in person,_

_ Your brother_

It wasn't difficult to decipher the tone of the letter.

She could tell that her brother was confused and hurt. He undoubtedly felt that, after being away for so long, he no longer knew her. The thought of Blake seriously thinking that she had attempted to kill Lily Potter made her feel ill. It wasn't like she hadn't thought about it, but to actually _do_ it-

The eggs on her plate no longer looked so appetizing.

Classes that day seemed to stretch on endlessly. Listening to what the professors said became a task. Words from textbooks floated off the page. Her writing was messy, much too messy, and when she looked over her notes, she found that they didn't make sense anyways. It was as if she was watching someone else's life unfold before her eyes. Actions didn't belong to her, and yet, it was her body that was moving.

Night time was even worse.

Suddenly, Porella was wide awake. Blake's letter had imprinted itself into her brain, and it played over and over again. The words were burned into the ceiling. Carved into the wood of her bed. Stamped on to the back of her eyelids. Every time she tried to fall asleep, she would picture Lily Potter falling from the broom. Except now it was Porella tumbling from the stick, the ground rushing towards her body, ready to swallow her whole-

At two hours past midnight, she gave up on sleep. Wrapping a green silk robe around her body, Porella padded through the common room, her feet hardly brushing the ground. The November chill had begun to sink into her bones, and she cast a warming spell, whispering as loudly as she dared. Her parents had wanted her to learn non-verbal spells by now. For the first time, Porella couldn't help but feel sorry for not listening to them.

The lack of breakfast this morning had finally caught up with her, and she made her way silently to the kitchen. Nobody was up this time of night. The caretaker went to sleep at one, and students only ran amok on weekends. She didn't need to worry about being seen. But with her black hair and fair skin, Porella couldn't help but think that if someone did see her, they would likely think that she was a ghost, anyways.

The kitchen was blissfully quiet. The house elves had finally taken their leave, and only the silent brass pots and pans remained. The last embers of the fire reflected off of them, throwing bits of gold scattered across the room. The only other light came from a few candles set deep within the stone wall. Porella started the kettle with a wave of her wand. Then, she took a seat at the scrubbed wooden table, burying her face in her hands.

"Rough night?"

The voice was male, distinctly young and human. Porella felt her shoulders stiffen. Her right hand on her wand, she raised her head slowly, ignoring the sudden pounding of her heart. All she could see by the door were shadows. "More so, now that you're here. Do you make a habit of following defenseless girls around at night, or am I a special case?"

"You're hardly the defenseless type," the stranger snorted. "As for the second part, it was a lucky coincidence. Would you believe that I was night-flying?"

Talc stepped into the faint flicker of candlelight, grinning widely. The last of the fire caught his mocha-skin, turning it as liquid gold as his eyes. His brown hair was wind-swept. Talc was indeed wearing quidditch trousers instead of pajamas. A broom was palmed loosely in his left hand, and she couldn't deny that, as far as alibis went, his story was pretty tight.

"So, what?" She raised an eyebrow. "Afterwards, you had a sudden craving for a lemon tart at two in the morning?"

"I could ask the same of you."

"I'm allergic to lemon tarts," she said. "So, no, you couldn't."

Abruptly, she stood. The sharp whistle of the kettle filled the silence between them. Talc took the empty seat across from her abandoned chair, his fingers interlaced as he waited. Porella poured the tea. She was careful to keep her back to him, lest he catch the look of fear on her face. She had the desperate need to pull herself together in a matter of seconds. And, as she breathed in the steam rising from the cup, she let steely resolve sink into her bones.

Talc would not find out about the letter.

"Are you sure that you're not stalking me?" she asked, peering at him from over the brim of her mug. "Because you seem to coincidentally be around a lot of the time. First with the early morning flying, and now with the midnight stalking. I mean, I'm flattered Rosier, but definitely not interested."

To her surprise, he laughed. "I, on the other hand, am entirely interested. But only in having you deflate your head a little bit."

"Did you imply that I have a big ego?"

"No implying involved. You read the message loud and clear." He snatched her tea, taking a long draught. Then, he smacked his lips, pushing it back across the wooden table. She scowled and wrapped her hands protectively around it. Talc leaned forward, eyes keenly bright. "Speaking of messages, have you read the one from your brother yet?"

Porella almost dropped the mug.

_Alright. So he already knows._

That didn't mean that Talc was going to know that the letter had bothered her.

"Perhaps." Her voice was cool. She was suddenly grateful for the warm weight of the mug in her hands. It kept her hands from shaking. "Blake wrote to you about it, then."

"He did."

"Idiot," she sighed. Seeing Talc's look of confusion, she continued airily. "Oh, don't get me wrong, I love my brother, but he lacks the necessary common sense to make decisions sometimes. He doesn't understand how corrupt the world we live in is. He's too trusting. Too..." She stirred the tea, watching as the spoon carefully drowned a lump of sugar. "Gryffindor."

"He said that you cursed Lily Potter," Talc said, watching her raptly. "Is that true?"

Porella smiled thinly. "Would it make a difference if I did?"

"Of course."

"Why?" She looked at him curiously. "Lily Potter was cursed by a Slytherin. It was someone just like me, someone who has turned to the dark arts because there's no hope left for them. She's injured now. What difference does it make if I was the one to raise a wand?"

There was a pause. Then, "You don't really believe that."

"What? That it doesn't make a difference?"

"No," he said quietly. "That there's no hope left for you. Otherwise, you wouldn't be sitting in this kitchen right now. Otherwise, you wouldn't have this." Faster than her eyes could follow, he had flipped over her forearm, revealing the bare skin there. His gold eyes were luminous. "Don't lie to my face."

She wrenched her hand back. It folded into her chest, as if she could cradle it protectively away from prying eyes. "How would you know if I was lying?"

"Because," he said, his voice almost gentle, "you haven't been paying attention to anything else."

At his words, something hot landed on her thigh. She moved aside her robe to reveal a scorched patch of bare skin beneath the silk hemline of her shorts. Porella's eyes shot upwards. Belatedly, she realized that there was a growing puddle of hot tea, expanding over the small table and off the edge. Talc must have spilled the contents of her mug while flipping over her arm, and she hadn't even realized it.

The lie she had been trying to invent had consumed her, distracting her from the events unfolding in front of her. Porella had let her guard down without meaning to. Talc was right. And she hated him for it.

"You're a bastard," she said briskly, and with a wave of her wand, the mess was gone. "And for the record, I didn't try to kill Lily Potter, which you're more than well aware of already, because I heard that you kicked Slate off the team."

"Well, yes, but I sort of-"

"Obviously," she continued, ignoring him entirely, "you think that he was behind the cursed bludger, or you wouldn't be down here talking to me in the first place. I'd already be awaiting a trial in the Wizengamot." Her hands were shaking, and she flexed them impatiently. "So don't come in here all high and mighty, trying to convince me that there's still a chance for me, or- or _hope_." The words were spit from her mouth, the taste of them disgusting on her tongue. "You don't know the first thing about me, Rosier, and I can assure you that you are the last person that I would tell."

For a moment, he looked dumbfounded. "Porella-"

"Don't bother," she said coldly. "I have no interest in keeping Gryffindor pets."

They both sat still for a moment, regarding one another wearily. Porella could hear her own harsh breathing echo loudly off of the silent walls. One hand rested on the rose pendant, the other, however unconsciously, on her wand. Talc looked entirely too calm. His ankles were crossed. Hands interlaced. A proper gentleman's position, as prim and perfect as her mother would have taught.

"You're right," Talc said finally. "About some of it, at least. I like Gryffindors; they're not my pets." He leaned forward once more. "But I'm not here to lecture you, Porella, and if you'd listen for half a second-"

"I am listening."

"No, you're not." The words were mildly frustrated, but he stood his ground. "I know that you're not, because I keep trying to say-"

"What do you keep saying?"

"_That I'm on your side._"

His words gave her pause. They were spoken with a blazing conviction, as if he undoubtedly believed them. But Talc, as she frequently forgot, was a Slytherin. He could have been lying. And sure, Blake trusted him, but her brother was rarely a good judge of character. Her mother had always said that his fatal flaw was his ability to see the good in everything.

"I don't have a side," she said shortly. "I look out for myself."

For a moment, she thought that Talc might plead with her. Beg her to trust him and fight against evil, and whatnot. Instead, he simply studied her. "Alright, then. I'll make you a deal."

She couldn't help but feel her interest pique. "What sort of deal?"

"The type that works out for both of us." He shrugged. "You say that you want to look out for yourself? Fine. I can help you with that. Let me escort you to the ceremony in December. I'll make sure that something happens to end it without anyone suspecting you."

Her arms folded over her chest. "And in return?"

"I'll get to hear loads of information," he said. "And also, I'll require a... favor." Upon seeing Porella's expression, he snorted. "Oh, not _that_ type of favor. Merlin, do you often sleep with people for your own gain?"

"It wouldn't be the first time," she said, studying her nails. "Nor, do I suspect, will it be the last."

They sat in silence for another moment. Talc seemed satisfied that he had presented the terms clearly, and was content to simply sit back and watch her. Porella did not shift under his gaze. Instead, she stared directly into his gold eyes. It was hard to tell exactly what he was thinking; Talc was clever and, as shown with his earlier pretenses surrounding Porella cursing Lily Potter, he knew how to manipulate people to get what he wanted. On the other hand, so did she. It came down to a question of who would be quicker at it.

"Alright." She stuck out her hand. "We have a deal."

Talc looked almost surprised. "We do?"

She nodded. It was dark in the kitchens, much too dark to see his face, but she thought she saw something flicker across it momentarily. He took her hand. She smiled, poisonously slow. "Get me out of the ceremony, and then I owe you a favor. It's a bargain."

* * *

_A/N: Please leave me a review! Lilium Ignis readers, I would love to hear your take on Porella now that you've seen more of her side of things. New readers, I would just love to hear from you in general!_


	6. Chapter 6

_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything affiliated with it. It all belongs to the talented J.K. Rowling_

_A/N: Wow! I don't think that my estimated update has ever been quite spot-on before, so I'm feeling more pleased with myself than I ought to be. I hope that updates continue to be this regular; I actually just finished working on an original novel, so if anything, they should become even quicker. In the mean time, please enjoy!_

* * *

Porella never looked forward to holidays, but she was particularly dreading this one.

She had thought that last year would have been the worst Christmas she would ever experience. Blake had been gone on whatever mission the council had sent him on, and her parents had never really wanted her home. Her brother had always been the one to insist that she visit. And so holidays had been spent by herself at Hogwarts; it had been too cold to fly and too early to study for exams. On the twenty-fifth, she had cracked open a bottle of butterbeer and celebrated by herself in the dormitory.

As it turned out, Porella hadn't properly appreciated the freedom until she no longer had it.

This year, her initiation ceremony was scheduled for New Years' Eve. Her mother had thought it was fitting: the start of the New Year, and the start of her new life. Porella suspected that her father had agreed more out of convenience than anything else. He was of the mindset that the sooner, the better.

The Hogwarts express came in at eleven o'clock that morning. Eager parents waved from the platform, shrouded in the steam issuing from the train. The idle chatter of King's Cross station drifted through the window. Figures loomed out of the mist. A small girl with hair like a pixie danced on her toes, trying to peer through the foggy glass. An elderly lady was being helped with a suitcase by a young man. Two boys, no older than ten, were chasing one another around with wands that morphed into chickens.

Porella exited the train, hoping that the red wool of her peacoat might catch her driver's attention. Her parents never came to pick her up; frequently, they would send one of the staff, or else tell the house elves to get a portkey to her. She scanned the crowd once more before shrugging. She dragged her hand luggage through the brick wall and on to the muggle side of London.

The crowd was thicker here. People in business suits hurried past, often with nothing more than a light brown suitcase or a handbag. Chatter from cellphones and ipods filled the station, leaking from the earbuds. She had always felt that the air was different here: leaving the wizarding world behind felt somehow freer. These people passing by had no worries. They didn't know about the evil of the world, lurking right beneath their noses.

Porella slipped unnoticed through the crowd. Her hair fell loose over her shoulders today, tumbling to her waist in inky black curls. Her skirt was dark as well, matching the charcoal of her tights. Only the maroon of her coat was bright enough to be noticed, and she was slight enough that people looked past her, their gazes locked over the top of her head.

She still wasn't certain who she was looking for. The station was busy, and she certainly had no hope of seeking out someone. She only hoped that whoever was coming for her might be able to see her through-

"Took you long enough."

She turned around to find Blake casually leaning against one of the escalators. His dark hair was messy, as if it hadn't been cut for a while, and there were purple smudges beneath his eyes. Nevertheless, he was smiling. Before she could process what was happening, he had grabbed her beneath the arms, hoisting her into the air for a bone-crushing hug. She was sure that she let out a very undignified squeal.

"Blake!" Her hand shot out, hammering him solidly in the back. "Put me down!"

"Never."

"Right now!" Her brother was putting up an impressive display of resistance. Despite her repeated jabs to his shoulder, he didn't move. She only wished that she could have reached her wand. "Blake, we're in the middle of a train station! People are staring."

"Mostly the girls." He shrugged. "I'm used to it."

Finally, he set her down, grinning cheekily. Porella tried her best to glare at him, but couldn't seem to manage, if only because she was glad to be on her feet again. Blake immediately began his idle chatter, toting her luggage through the station and out into the streets of London. He led her through a darker car park that emerged on to a tinier road. An old, crumbling church passed by them on their right, followed by a series of benches in a park on their left. She was about to ask where exactly the portkey was when Blake stopped, pulling something out of his pocket. He jingled them in front of her face. "Car keys."

"What?" Porella looked at them, bewildered. "We're taking muggle transport?"

"Unless you would prefer to walk."

"But-" She watched, completely aghast, as Blake unlocked an old beater of a vehicle. It was an odd sort of green color, as if someone had vomited all over the car, and the paint was chipped and peeling. There was a dent in one of the doors. "Mum and dad must have been furious with you."

"Aren't they always?" he sighed. "Throw your stuff into the boot, then we'll go. Oh, and watch out for the rug; there's something sticky on it, and I'm not certain as to what it is."

Porella did as she was told, paying careful attention to not let her fingers brush the rug. She opened the car door to her side gingerly, praying that it wouldn't fall off. While she or Blake could have easily fixed it with a wave of their wands, if any muggles were to see, it would lead to a lot of awkward questions.

"Okay, I'll bite," she said, shutting the door behind her. "When did you learn to drive?"

"During my time abroad." Blake signaled left, pulling out of the parking space with ease. She watched, entranced, as the vehicle followed his motion as smoothly as any broom. Blake noticed her staring and grinned. "I spent some time in the muggle part of Saskatchewan. It was one of the things that I learned before leaving."

Porella raised an eyebrow. "Why did you leave?"

"Turns out that they drive on the right side of the road there." He shrugged. "Oops."

They sat in silence for a moment. Porella couldn't help but study her brother as he drove, his gaze riveted to the road. Blake had changed since she had seen him last, or perhaps she hadn't noticed before. There were crinkles around his mouth that hadn't been there before, and his olive skin was more tanned. Even the way he spoke, as if he had seen the secrets of the world, was more confident and certain.

She couldn't help but envy him.

"What?" he asked, noticing her expression. "Are you impressed that I haven't collided with anything yet?"

"No." She frowned, knotting her hands in her lap. "Well, yes. But I was also just... thinking."

"About?"

"The world." She leaned her head against the window, watching the blurs of the city pass by. London was drizzling, and a sort of dense mist like cold soup had set over the buildings. Children with pink cheeks hurried by, trailed by impatient mothers. A couple holding hands were sipping hot cocoa by the Thames. She sighed. "It's such a big planet, Blake. There's so many things to desire and see, enough that even a life time couldn't fulfill them. Sometimes I wonder if I'm going to see any of them at all."

"You will," he said, glancing over at her. "Eventually."

She turned away from the window, a sour taste in her mouth. "No, likely not. And before you say that I sound pessimistic, I'm just being _realistic_." She smiled thinly. "You went traveling and came back completely changed. Do you really think mum and dad would risk losing another potential recruit?"

Blake flinched. "About that-"

"It's done." She shrugged. "No use crying over spilled milk."

Blake tapped his fingers uncomfortably on the steering wheel. She had made him feel guilty, and a twisted part of her felt pleased. Her brother, so good and pure in his intentions, rarely had to feel regret over a decision that he made. Porella could still remember taking lessons with their father together when they were young. Porella had always been the one to have to try the unforgivable curses on the spiders. She had done it for her brother willingly, made the decision in a heart beat, but a part of her had always hated him for it.

She had always been the stronger of the two of them. Blake, for all of his efforts, had never quite been able to fulfill the older brother role. And Porella had always been able to read him like a book, and there was certainly no exception today.

"Blake, I'm not thick." She slid her gaze over towards his restless fingers. "I can tell that you drove in order to speak to me without our parents. Something's bothering you." She studied him critically, her eyes raking over his face. It came to her in an instant. "It's the Potter girl, isn't it?"

"Lily."

"Yes, I know her name," she said shortly. "I'm surprised that you do, too."

"She and Scorpius are quite close." Upon catching sight of her expression, he sighed. "Not like that. Scorpius cares a great deal for the Potter family. He feels indebted to them for taking him in when nobody else would."

Porella's seatbelt felt suddenly smothering, crushing her lungs. "You've been writing to him, then?"

"And Talc." Blake glanced at her in the mirror. "They're good kids, Porella. They're careful to keep their heads down, but not stupid enough to look away completely. You'd do well to befriend them."

"I don't have friends."

His lips twitched. "And whose fault is that?"

"It's not a fault." She crossed her arms irritably. "It's just something that I don't want. Friends are... _consuming_," she said, letting the word roll of the tip of her tongue. "They need attention and loving care. They want to hear details about your lives. Friends are annoying and, if it comes down to it, downright dangerous."

Blake raised an eyebrow. "Dangerous?"

"Mmm." Porella toyed idly with the cross around her neck. "You see, if one grows too attached to something, they'll do anything to ensure its safety. Perhaps even put aside their own." She dropped the necklace suddenly, straightening in her seat. Blake's gaze was fixed on the road. "But that's not what you wanted to talk to me about."

"No," he said. "It's not."

"Why don't you just ask me, then?" The words were not bitter. Porella couldn't help but feel an honest sort of curiosity. "Are you scared of the answer?"

"No."

"Ah." Porella leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes. "Scared of me, then." This time, there was no response. She didn't look at him; the image of a spider in a glass jar bending under the weight of her spell was imprinted on the back of her eyelids. She could see it as clearly as if she had been watching the road in front of her: the flash of red, the spider's high-pitched keening, and, most vividly, the horrified widening of a young Blake's eyes. "You think that I tried to kill her."

"I never said that."

"You didn't have to."

"Well." He cleared his throat. "Did you try to kill her?"

Her eyes snapped open, focusing on her brother. He was looking anywhere but at her. The cinnamon gum in his mouth snapped twice, and his hands drummed a nervous rhythm on the steering wheel once more. Porella sighed. "No, Blake, I didn't."

"The council thinks that you did."

"They also think that we should be hunting down muggleborns and torturing them, but you clearly don't agree with that." She squinted suspiciously at him. "Is it because the council thinks that I did it, or because you think that I'm capable of it?"

Blake hesitated. "Both."

"Well, I didn't do it." She exhaled, tipping her head back against the beat-up leather of the seat. It smelled of old coffee and cinnamon chewing gum, both things that her brother had cultivated a steady addiction to. There was something else lingering beneath the leather, a sort of polish, that reminded her faintly of Albus Potter. "I pulled out my wand to try to stop the bludger. I don't know why - instinct, I guess - but I was too late. Anyways, Slate saw me do it. He must have mentioned it to Arius and his father."

"But you wouldn't have done it."

It wasn't a question this time, but the edge of uncertainty in Blake's voice still remained. Porella watched as they made a turn towards the outskirts of London. They had almost arrived. "She's alright now. I saw her up and walking around just a few days ago."

"That didn't sound like an answer." Blake slowed down the car, enough that they would have a few more seconds, but not by much. His voice had grown urgent. "Porella, you need to decide right now what you want: the council, or the resistance."

"Now?" Porella swallowed past a lump in her throat. She layered her voice with sarcasm instead, hoping that it might disguise the fear. "Here, in this very car? Why, I'm so honored-"

"Don't be a prat." Blake switched on his blinker, turning on to a rural road. She recognized it as the last one before the driveway. "I'm being serious. You need to decide before we go inside that house, because we won't have a chance to talk in private." She could feel the weight of his gaze on her and, desperately, he reached out to squeeze her arm. "Listen, Talc and I can stop the ceremony if you want, but you have to make the choice. Whose side are you on? Mine, or our parents?"

"Blake-"

"It will come down to war." His grip tightened. "Whose side is it?"

"Yours," she said, and he blew out a breath, relinquishing her arm. There was a sudden burning in her eyes, and she stared hard at the window. "It'll always be yours."

* * *

Porella had always liked her bedroom.

Her walls were a bruised plum with sparkling gold stars, like the sky at dusk. Her white vanity was pushed thoughtlessly into the corner. Make-up overflowed from painted pots and jars, and powder brushes fanned out like mushrooms. Jewelry hung from hooks embedded into the wall, framed by portraits of herself and her brother. Her bed was set low into the wall, the sheets unused and sleek. It was a sharp contrast to her area of the Slytherin dorm room she shared.

Porella sat at her vanity, blinking into the mirror.

Her dress was short, just long enough that when her arms dangled at her sides, the hemline brushed the tops of her knuckles. Blood red, ruched fabric was pulled taught to her body. She paired it with fishnets. Her feet were shoved roughly into stilettos, and make-up was applied. Hair, dark and inky, tumbled around her shoulders. It was not an appropriate outfit by any stretch of the imagination. It was a harlot dress, seductive as her name, found in dark alleyways and shifty street corners.

Her parents would hate it.

Lips set in grim resolve, Porella stood and strapped her wand to the outside of her thigh, pushing it between bare skin and stocking. Next, she touched the rose pendant on her throat. Still in place. Just like her parents plan.

A sudden knock on the door made her start.

"Come in."

Talc slipped through the door way, shutting it behind him silently. He was dressed in standard formal wear: black wizard robes, black trousers, black shoes. His brown hair was tamed artfully with gel, as styled and purposeful as a painting. Only the gold of his cuff links provided any color. She couldn't help but notice that they were the exact same shade as his eyes.

He turned, his mouth half-open to say something, then paused. Talc's eyes ran the length of her body. They lingered on the curve of her hip and her chest and, when they found her face once more, the bewildered boy shook his head firmly. "Absolutely not. Blake will have me murdered if I take you downstairs looking like that."

She raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"

"Like- like-" His cheeks had colored slightly, and she had the brief satisfaction of seeing him look flustered. "Merlin, I don't know. You do know that Coltan Lestrange is down there, right?"

"And?"

"And he's liable to stick his tongue down your throat."

"He's liable to try. That's what you're here for." She smiled sweetly. "As my date, your job is to protect me while I elbow him in the groin. And anyways," she said, bending down to do up her heels, "it's my coming out party, so I ought to be able to wear what I like."

"What are you coming out as again?" he asked. "A death eater?"

Porella straightened. He was smiling, but his voice was soft as velvet. There was something in his eyes that she didn't like. It was the same look that Blake had in the car; Talc might be genuinely trying to help her, but he certainly didn't trust her. And, if it came down to it, she was sure that he would abandon her without a second thought."Well, I hope not, so long as all goes according to plan."

Talc seemed to hear the question in her words. "I have it under control. Blake and I have an idea."

"I'm sure," she said shortly. "Speaking of which, where is my darling brother?"

There was an awkward pause. Talc fiddled with the lapels of his coat, twisting them round and round. Gold sparks of color flew through the air like shooting stars. The fabric slid aside temporarily, revealing the end of his wand. What looked like a vial or two of potion were also hidden among inner pockets. Porella frowned. She was about to continue in her interrogation, this time about the substances, when he spoke.

"We should really go down now." And then, more wryly, "I can hardly have your parents thinking that my intentions are less than honorable."

He offered her his arm. With trepidation, she took it, more out of good breeding and etiquette than anything else. And yet, it was she that did most of the leading as they went. How Talc had managed to find her room in the expanse of the mansion was a miracle in itself and, as she had suspected, he didn't have the faintest clue as to what the way out was. She guided them through a corridor of Yaxley family portraits, ignoring the prickling on the back of her neck under the weight of their stares. Then, she took a sharp right, stopping at the double doors close to the end of the hallway.

Porella turned to look at him steadily. "Are you sure that you want to go through with this?"

"Yes."

In the dim light of the corridor, she could just see the curve of his lips. The mocha of his skin was illuminated in golds and coppery yellows, and the lashes around his eyes were unbelievably dark. He was beautiful, she thought, but perhaps dangerously so. A poisonous flower amidst a field of thorns. She smiled grimly, placing a hand on the wooden door.

"Welcome to my world, Talc Rosier."

And she pushed.

Light immediately flooded the corridor, much brighter than any candle. The murmured hush of anticipation rose above the crowd, an excited thrum that shocked her down to her very bones. She stepped forward cautiously, coming to rest on a balcony above the throng, just outside of their gaze. Talc gravitated to her side. His eyes followed the curve of the stairs downwards, disappearing into the mosaic of dress robes.

"Bloody hell," he said, astonished. "I mean... _bloody hell._"

Porella couldn't help but smirk. "And they say that money can't replace love."

The ballroom itself was grand, as splendid as the Malfoy's, and one couldn't help but be impressed by its beauty. Soaring windows arced towards the ceiling, tall and imposing as unconquerable mountains. They were sheathed in a fog of gauzy white curtains. Gold pillars wrapped round the room and, coupled with the flickering of candles, bathed the entire room in buttery light. Porella's eyes followed the curve of shadows upward. The ceiling was a mosaic of colors, each as bright and vivid as the next. Figures loomed out of the mess: an angel reaching out; a child crying; a woman flying; and, sending a chill down her spine, a devil laughing.

"What?" Talc must have noticed the change in her expression, because he looked at her more carefully. "Is something bothering you?"

_Besides this whole situation?_

"I'm fine," she said acidly. "There's just a lot of people."

He grinned. "Worried that you'll fall down the stairs?"

"I'm more worried that you'll trip me." She studied him seriously. "Small steps. One foot in front of the other. If you so much as stumble, I'm letting go of you immediately."

"Noted."

They lapsed into silence, surveying the room before them once more. Below the balcony, the crowd executed their own dance in A cappella. Women dressed in brilliant colors ghosted past, as powdered and enticing as teacakes. Their gowns were adorned with an icing of delicate white lace. Men with cheshire smiles traded guarded handshakes. Lips brushed cheeks. Gloved hands were kissed. Smile, hello, kiss, goodbye. The process was stinted, as if they had all been rehearsing a play for months and were only just performing now.

She had hardly realized that their eyes were trained on her until an elbow dug into her side.

Talc looked down at her. His arm hung, proffered, in mid-air. Smoothly, she took it, placing her hand lightly on the crook of his elbow. The heavy gaze of the crowd rested upon her shoulders, but she refused to slump. She would not shrink behind Talc. Instead, she squared her shoulders, descending the stairs with all of the grace she could muster. One foot in front of the other. Breathe. Eye contact. Nod. Finally, painstakingly slowly, she felt her foot land on level surface.

Porella had never been so relieved.

Polite clapping. Music swelling. And then everyone was back to chatting, their backs turned towards her once more. Her father whispered something in her mother's ear. Irene's gaze was fixed on Talc, and though she was not scowling, her nose was wrinkled in distaste. Porella immediately dropped his arm.

"Ah, young love," an amused voice said. "So fleeting in its pursuit."

Coltan smiled blindingly at her. His blonde hair was sleeked back, and he was dressed similarly to Talc, only he wore a dark green tie and no cufflinks. His eyes were fixed on where Porella's hand had been clamped on Talc's arm. At his own side was a mousy girl, slightly older than she. Her dress was white taffeta silk, floating around her in clouds of spun sugar. It was modest: the collar brushed her throat, and the sleeves billowed at her elbows, falling loose from her wrists. She looked like an angel. And yet, there was something lurking in the other girl's eyes that led Porella to believe that she was far from one herself.

"You look..." The girl's speculative gaze flicked over her dress. "Pretty."

She said the word _pretty _how most would say _ridiculous _or _revealing. _Porella felt her blood go cold, but she smiled sweetly. "Well, if we're going to lie so blatantly, then I'd say that you look nice as well. If you want the honest truth, though?" She leaned in close. "We're living in the twenty-first century, not the nineteenth."

The other girl remained unruffled. "Oh, dear, Porella, you seem to be the one entirely out of date. Clearly, you missed the fashion-forward boat."

"Are you sure that you were _on_ the boat?" She smiled dangerously. "I might have said that you were one. Those poor sleeves look like you could build a small sail out of them."

To her surprise, both Talc and Coltan laughed. The former quickly hid his, turning it into a hacking cough. The latter merely outwardly guffawed. He lay a hand on the tiny girl's shoulders. "You see, Clara? I told you that she was sharp."

"Yes, she's very amusing," the other girl - Clara - said flatly. "I can hardly breathe for laughing."

"Clara was marked last year." Coltan pulled the small girl to his side, crushing her against him. Clara didn't seem to mind, and Coltan's hand began to wander down her backside. "We've been working on many missions together since."

Porella was about to reply with a smart comment, but the look in Clara's eyes gave her pause. The other girl had her hand pressed to Coltan's chest. Her leg was wrapped around his, and the intent of the message was clear: _back off_. And while Porella probably could have taken her, the notion of fighting over Coltan Lestrange sickened her. And so, she merely entwined her hand with Talc's instead, hoping that Clara wouldn't be thick enough to miss the message.

"How perfectly charming," she said calmly. "Talc and I are in our seventh-year at Hogwarts together. We both play for the Slytherin quidditch team. And while he may just be beater, he's a keeper to me." She winked at him. "Aren't you, babe?"

Talc, who had stiffened on initial contact, relaxed once more. Evidently, he had realized that she would have never used something as terribly mushy and sentimental as _he's a keeper,_ or used the term _babe_ to describe him. His eyes darted between Clara and Coltan in confusion. Then, his expression cleared. "Right."

"In fact, I think the two of us might go somewhere a little more... private."

_Like to find my brother and escape this thing._

Talc seemed to understand her intentions, and his arm wrapped around her waist. After some wheedling from Clara, Coltan's did the same, drawing the mousy girl away. Porella watched the pair of them disappear into the crowd. Then, immediately, she extracted herself from the exotic boy as delicately as ripping off a bandaid. Talc's lips quirked.

"Oh, come on. You enjoyed that."

"Yeah." She crossed her arms. "The part where I got away from you."

Talc looked like he was about to argue, but then thought better of it. Instead, he shrugged. His hand snaked out to pluck two champagne flutes from a passing waiter, and he handed one to Porella, keeping the other for himself. She sipped at it carefully.

"I don't suppose you want to tell me when I'm getting out of here."

"Of course not." Talc grinned. "That would completely spoil the fun."

Porella took another swallow. The combination of sudden warmth from the alcohol and Talc's words made her smile, and she twirled the delicate stem between her thumb and forefinger. The crystal threw rainbows across the room, flickering over Talc's face. Porella toasted the medley of colors with a nod. "Oh, but the night is young. The real fun has yet to begin."

* * *

_A/N: Let me know what you think! What do you think of Porella's outfit choice? And what do you suppose the plan is? Where is Blake? Please share your thoughts in a review!_


	7. Chapter 7

_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything affiliated with it; all of it belongs to the talented J.K. Rowling_

_A/N: This chapter was much more difficult than any other for me to write. It does contain mature subject matter that is uncomfortable to both read and write, and I discourage anyone who is sensitive to things dealing with sexual assault to not read any further. However, I hope that all of you that do read this can understand why I chose to write it the way that I did, and I look forward to hearing what your thoughts are._

* * *

As she had expected, Irene Yaxley found her at a quarter past nine.

Her mother was dripping in lavish jewels, wound in thick gold ropes around her neck like snakes. Her dress was form-fitting, a fierce forest green, and her heels put her at just a little over six feet. She clutched the delicate stem of a wine glass between crimson nails. Her lips were stained a bloody red. Her penciled eyebrows, sharp as glass, were narrowed in a v-shape.

"Porella." She kissed her on both cheeks lightly, leaving only the faintest of imprints. "Darling, you look lovely this evening."

She said _lovely _in a way that made Porella think that her mother would like nothing better than to throw her dress into the rubbish bin. Nevertheless, she smiled politely. "As do you."

"And your date." Irene's eyes lingered on the curve of Talc's shoulder, sweeping down towards his shoes. Her fingers twiddled with the wineglass. "Val Rosier's son, if I'm not mistaken."

Porella glanced to where Talc stood a little farther away, speaking with Arius Blackthorn. No doubt the former had roped him into a quidditch discussion in the middle of holiday. Starlight streaming in through the window hid both boys in a circle of silver, and it was difficult to make out much more than black dress robes. Porella couldn't help but be relieved that they were both behaving themselves.

"Not the most suitable boy for the occasion." Irene's lips were pursed. "Arius Blackthorn or Coltan Lestrange would both have been better options. Slate-"

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"No, I couldn't have brought Slate." To be honest, Porella hadn't thought much past that, and the thought scared her to death. Her mother was not accustomed to any sort of rebellious behavior. Porella was not rash enough to be accustomed to having to think up a lie quickly. "I've watched him on the quidditch pitch; he and Scorpius Malfoy have become close friends. I couldn't risk bringing him."

Her mother studied her for a moment. For a second, Porella thought that she could see right through her to where the lie sat in her chest, ugly and black. But Irene merely inclined her head. "Well done."

"Thank-you."

"It wasn't a compliment." Irene paused, smiling faintly as a waiter breezed past, plucking the empty glass from her hands in a whirl of white gloves. The moment that he was gone, her smile dropped. "Scorpius Malfoy has betrayed us, Porella. It is expected that all of us treat him as such. To go against one's kind, to purposely _abandon _one's own kin..." Her voice dropped. "Well, that's the worst sin of all."

Porella's dress suddenly felt too tight for breathing. "Oh."

"Mmm." Her mother's face was all angles and hollows. "If your brother had done the same, I would have disowned him on the spot. To fail and to betray are very different. Blake, for all of his faults, did not try and purposely disappoint your father and I. I'm most sorry that I cannot say the same for the Malfoy boy."

Porella did not dare scratch her nose or avert her gaze. Touching her face meant that she was untrustworthy. Avoiding eye contact meant that she had something to hide. Porella had been brought up to recognize the signs of a liar, but never had she thought that she might need to use them for herself. She did not speak either, lest she give something away, and eventually her mother sighed.

"Where is your brother, anyways?"

Her blood went cold. "I thought that he wasn't allowed to these sorts of ceremonies."

"Don't be ridiculous." With no wineglass to keep their attention, Irene's fingers twitched spastically at her side, the long red nails drumming into the green fabric of her gown. "Of course he's supposed to be here. He has a special part to play in tonight's ceremony."

"The ceremony?"

"Christ, child, did no one educate you?" Irene asked, her voice dangerously close to snapping. "Yes, the ceremony. In order to receive the mark, you must go through a series of questions under veritaserum. We cannot afford to have a liar within our ranks."

Porella felt as if she was falling. Her heart swooped into her stomach, knocking the very breath from her lungs. Her hand went automatically to her necklace, as if it could anchor her to the ground. The other brushed over her thigh lightly to reassure herself that her wand was still there. "When?"

And, as if her words had conjured a sick twist of fate, Coltan Lestrange appeared beside her. "It's time."

There was a thousand things that Porella wanted to say in that moment, none of them polite. She did not voice any of them, however, for fear of her mother's wrath. Coltan was smirking in a smug manner that told her that he was enjoying this far more than she. Porella looked at her mother with the perfect picture of politeness. "Coltan's going to be doing my test, then?"

"If your brother isn't here, then he's certainly the next in line," Irene said, unconcerned. "They've set up a small chamber at the back, just below the balcony. You'll go and take the test, and once it is confirmed that you are trustworthy, we will brand you with the mark publicly. Then, this formal meeting will disband."

Porella bit down on the soft flesh of her lip to keep herself from screaming. Suddenly, the hemline of her dress felt too short. She could feel the cool air hitting the backs of thighs. "Will you be coming as well?"

"Of course not." Irene frowned. "You're far too old to be needing your mother, Porella."

But that hadn't been it at all. Irene had confirmed her worst fear. She would be trapped in a room with Coltan Lestrange, alone, for just over thirty minutes. And while she would normally be able to hold him at bay with more than enough ease, Porella wasn't entirely certain in this case. Coltan was strong. He was stocky and muscular, built for the fight. And if what Porella had heard about veritaserum was true, she would be more than a little uncomfortable. What was it that her father had always said?

_The truth hurts._

Her eyes slid sideways to where Talc stood, still completely oblivious to the whole situation. Slate had joined the two Slytherin boys now, and when he caught Porella looking, he gave her a slow smile. He raised a wine glass. He lifted it towards her in a silent toast before glancing away, joining the conversation once more. Porella clenched her hands into fists.

"Alright," she said. "Let's go."

Coltan led her through the sea of people, parting the tide unnoticed. She followed the green wink of his tie. He led her into a secluded corner, bathed in shadow by the balcony. Porella could just see the blinding white of his smile as he pushed open a door sunk low into the wall.

The room was tinier than she had expected. It couldn't have been larger than an old telephone box. A wooden chair was pushed roughly into the corner, straps of leather hanging off of it. Arm restraints. A small table across from it held a variety of vials, all of different sizes and colors. Between her mother's insistency and her Hogwarts education, Porella could name more than a few: alihosty draught, babbling beverage, chelidonium miniscula, and, of course, veritaserum.

Coltan must have seen her eyes lingering on the latter because he laughed. "Scared?"

"Only for you." She smiled at him coolly. "Don't get too close. I bite."

"I wouldn't mind." He guided her to a chair, his mouth twisted into an unpleasant smile. The wood was stiff and uncomfortable. When Coltan's hands went for the arm restraints, Porella slapped him away. He raised an eyebrow. "It's for your own good."

"Somehow, I doubt that."

"Put them on." This time, his voice left no room for argument. "Or I'll tell them that you were uncooperative. You'll fail, and be sent into exile." His grin was wicked sharp. "Just like your brother."

Porella felt her back stiffen. Coltan knew exactly how to push her buttons and, after years of being friends with Blake, knew exactly how to insult him as well. Tight-lipped, Porella did up her own arm-restraint, fastening the leather to her wrists. Coltan checked it before doing up the other. His hands lingered on the curve of her wrist.

"You're not scared of me, are you?" It wasn't a question, and she didn't give him an answer. He looked at her curiously, his cool breath washing over her face. Still, she said nothing. He smirked. "I like that. You would kill me without a second thought if it meant that you could save your own skin, and you know what?" His lips pressed to her ear. "That's why we're exactly alike."

Porella watched, keeping her face impassive as he straightened and began to root through the vials. His back was to her, but she watched his hands carefully, making sure that he poured only veritaserum into a smaller tumbler. The clear liquid caught the light. It was more than she had expected. More than the proper dosage for someone her size.

Coltan smirked. "Open up."

She did so, loathing him deeply. His blue eyes were filled with delight as he tipped to liquid on to her tongue, closing her mouth until she swallowed it. The hot liquid scorched her throat like flame, burning its path down through the soft tissues of her mouth and into the pit of her stomach. For a long second, nothing happened.

And then it hit her.

White-hot stabs of pain shot through her body, exploding at the crown of her head before stabbing downwards towards her feet. Her nerves were on fire. The very bones within her body were melting and dissolving, bending inwards on themselves and then out again. She screamed, trying to curl her knees up to her chest, but they were nailed to the floor by the sheer agony of it all. The taste of blood in her mouth let her know that she had bit through her lip.

A haze of blonde hair was foggy in her vision. Blue eyes blinked innocently. "Silly little Porella. Always so brave, and so strong. How does it feel now? The truth hurts, doesn't it?"

Porella could feel hot tears gather at the corner of her eyes, but she refused to let them out. For some reason beyond her knowledge, she faintly remembered promising herself not to cry. Her blood was roaring in her ears. A throbbing pain pulsated through her body like a diseased heart. A hand touched her upper thigh, grazing the stocking. It continued to climb higher, but she couldn't push it away. Couldn't remember why she had to, couldn't think through the writhing agony. Her hands were bound.

"You really thought that I wanted to question you?" The words were indistinct, jumbled. "And here I thought that you were smart."

Lips pressed to her throat. She could hardly feel them, they were so muted by the pain. Her entire body felt like it was tearing itself apart, ripping the skin on her arm to shreds. Someone in front of her was touching her stomach. "But I don't want to question you. I just want _you_."

The hands were traveling higher. The agony was too much, sending her into darkness, and she screamed and screamed-

The door flew open.

Abruptly, the blonde disappeared from her vision. There was a muffled grunt, dissolving in the bubble of sensational pain, and then a thump as a body hit the ground. Someone was touching her arm again. Green eyes appeared in the line of her vision, bright and fresh as cut grass.

"Elle? Can you hear me?"

She didn't think that she could remember how to speak. Her lips were cracked and bleeding, and her head felt as if she had rammed it into a concrete wall. But the word was dragged from her throat, as if fish hooks were scraping it from the flesh. "Yes."

"Are you alright?"

"No," she gasped, clenching her fists. The pain came in a wave that time, the word bubbling from her throat and choking off her oxygen supply. She couldn't remember how to breathe. Couldn't remember how to stop the words from coming.

"Shit." The green eyes disappeared. Hands tugged at the leather. "They've already got the veritaserum into her. Talc, give me the antidote."

"I've got it."

Her head was tugged back gently, although the movement was made a thousand times worse by the agony. The insides of her brain collided with her skull, and she screamed. The arm restraints that had been holding her down were now gone, and her hands shot out, clawing at the air. There was loud swearing. Someone pinned her arms down tightly once more.

"She won't open her mouth!"

"Then make her!" Green eyes looked at her once more, the faintest trace of distress in them. "She's going to enjoy it a hell of a lot more than whatever's happening right now."

Hands grabbed her chin. Her lips were forced roughly apart, and it was as if her jaw had been split in half. An inhuman shriek filled the room, and she realized distantly that it was her. The person holding down her hands continued to swear. Liquid dribbled into her mouth.

Abruptly, the pain left her.

Her bones felt hollow and worn. She was light-headed and dizzy, and her arms felt as if they were floating. Unable to support herself, she slumped forward suddenly. Porella closed her eyes and prepared to hit the ground when arms shot out to catch her. Albus Potter searched her face worriedly.

"Is it gone? Elle, is it gone?"

"Yes." Her voice was dry and rough, as crackly as the leaves in autumn. "It's gone."

"Bloody hell." All the blood had gone from his face, and she was sweating almost as badly as she was. Carefully, he propped her back up on the chair, supporting her head with his hands. "We came as fast as we could. They weren't supposed to start the interrogation for another twenty minutes."

For the first time, Porella began to look around the room. Coltan Lestrange lay in a crumpled pile beneath the table of vials, his green tie askew. He was breathing shallowly. It looked as if he had hit his head, but was merely unconscious. Talc appeared to be removing several silencing charms from the room. The vials she had seen earlier in the pocket of his robes were discarded on the table, empty. They must have held an antidote.

"This was the rescue plan?" She tried to sound angry, but it came out as more of a weary croak. A hysterical giggle rose in her throat. "How do you plan to sneak me out? Dig a tunnel?"

Albus ignored her entirely. He shook his head. "She's completely delirious."

"So are you," she said, still giggling, "if you think that I'm going anywhere with you, Potter."

He looked absolutely horrified. It was as if he were watching a lion suddenly express the urge to eat only leaves. His hand went to her forehead, and she was surprised to feel how cool it was. His fingers were like ice. "She's burning up. Talc, we need to move her. Where did Blake say that he would meet us?"

"The west wing." Talc finished unlocking the doors. "They're staying there for the night. He'll say that Porella got scared and wanted to hide out for a while."

"Hold on." Porella frowned. A sinking sense of sobriety had filled her, squelching the laughter in her throat. She shook her head. "My parents won't believe that I got scared and ran away from something like veritaserum. That's completely ridiculous, especially for me."

Albus snorted. "Glad to see that your ego is still intact."

"We're not saying that you're scared of the veritaserum," Talc said calmly, ignoring Albus entirely. "We're saying that the attack on the ministry scared you."

"There was an attack on the ministry?" As far as Porella had been concerned, she had been under the influence of the potion for less than ten minutes. Surely, she hadn't missed that much. "From who?"

Talc's gold eyes were bright with amusement. "Blake."

"Blake? But-" A thought occurred to her, as disturbing as it was possible. Her hands went to her necklace, slowly this time. They were shaking with effort. "You had my brother attack the ministry of magic in order to distract the party and bust me out?"

Talc shrugged. "In the short version, yes."

"You idiots!" Porella jumped to her feet, throwing herself at the nearest boy. It turned out to be Albus, and she hit out at him with her fists. Unfortunately, she hadn't accounted for her recently-shaken balance, and the weight of her body threw them both into the wall. Albus winced.

"Jesus, Elle! Watch it!"

"You watch this!" She raised a hand back, poised to swing, when something caught her fist. Then, she was roughly extracted from the green-eyed boy. Talc looked solemnly down at her.

"He's fine, Porella. Neither side knows that it was him."

She paused and took a moment to breathe. Really, when she thought about it, the entire plan was rather clever. The interruption in the ceremony was hardly her fault. She was in here being questioned by Coltan when it happened. As for why he was unconscious, with any luck, an obliviate charm had already been used. And even if it hadn't, she had a feeling that the older boy wouldn't be quick to volunteer information: she could get him into a lot more trouble than he could afford. And if Blake was safe and tucked away now, then there was only one thing that she couldn't understand...

"Why are you here?" Porella looked to where Albus stood, watching her wearily. "No offense, but you don't really seem like the white-knight type. Especially for someone like me."

For a moment, she thought that he was going to argue. But he merely shrugged. "Scorpius sent me."

"Malfoy?" Porella took a moment to digest the information. It made sense, she supposed. Scorpius and her had an understanding of sorts. They had grown up together, learned how to fight together, and eventually fought to learn together. He knew her better than almost anyone. If the situations were reversed, and she had a chance to save him from something that she thought was wrong, she would have taken it in a heartbeat. "Why isn't he here, then?"

"Well, he can't exactly stroll in." Albus smiled wryly. "Anyways, he's with Lily. With the attack on the ministry, she's obviously quite worried."

The last part was said with palpable sarcasm. Porella leaned forward to interrogate him further, but Talc's hold on her tightened almost unconsciously, restraining her from movement. She glared at him fiercely. He dropped her immediately as if she had burned him. She landed lightly on her feet. Standing hurt like hell, but she wasn't going to let either of them know it.

"Okay, and that's all brilliant. But there's an entire ball going on out there." One hand indicated the door vaguely. "I have no idea how you got Albus in, but I can tell you that there's no way to get him out. Come to think of if, there's no way to get _me _out." It was true; the second that they stepped outside, her mother would assume that the interrogation was finished. Assuming that Coltan lied and said that she had passed, Porella would still be branded, and all would have been for naught. But Talc smiled at her assuredly.

"That's where Blake comes in. He's bought us enough time to get you to the west wing without anyone noticing; the Ministry has declared a state of emergency and is announcing a mass twenty-four hour lockdown. Everyone is to return home immediately."

Porella had no idea what her brother had to do to swing that, but she was pretty sure that she never wanted to find out. Shakily, she took a step. Her leg wobbled, bending this way and that, but held. Both boys knew well enough not to offer her assistance. "I'll lead the way, then."

And yet, Talc couldn't seem to stop himself. "Are you sure that you're alright?"

"Why do people even ask that?" she snapped. "Can't you just- just say _okay_ and be done with it?"

There were no more questions after that.

Porella insisted on pocketing some of the vials before they left. Coltan, she argued, would hardly notice, and besides, they could come in handy anyways. Then, she led them out the door and into the ballroom. As they had hoped, it was silent, apart from the few house elves that were scurrying around. Dishes stacked high as her were balanced on their heads. Still, the three of them slunk in the shadows. If Irene asked the house elves if they had seen them, Porella had no doubt that they would confess in an instant.

The trio travelled down several corridors. The obvious decrease in her regular pace irritated Porella. She could physically feel the boys slowing down, sandwiching her between them. They would wait for her. She was the weak link in the threesome, and she hated herself for it.

Eventually, they reached the west wing. Albus and Talc did not venture in with her. She was glad: it was doubtful that they would have found their way out once more, and besides, she wanted to talk to her brother alone. Talc hesitated at the corner where they would leave her.

"You're sure?" he asked yet again. "You might pass out, you know. Merlin only knows where Coltan Lestrange is at-"

"I'm fine."

"Of course you are," he sighed. Talc was doubtful, as he always was. Even if he wasn't her quidditch captain and had been groomed to look after her, Porella had a niggling suspicion that he would have felt responsible for her anyways. "Write me, okay?"

"I'll try."

"I guess that's the best I'm going to get." He smiled crookedly. "See you around, Porella."

She watched as he stepped back into the shadows, turning down the corridor and to the right. Off to find a fireplace, if she were to guess. He must have had to floo out. Her gaze slid critically to the other boy. Judging by Albus' windswept hair, he had flown, ditching his broom in a nearby shrub or vase. No doubt the party guests would compliment her mother on her new decoration. As if guessing her thoughts, Albus smiled.

"Don't worry, I stashed it somewhere safe."

"Your attitude?"

"My broom." He smirked this time, as if he really had heard her thoughts. As it was, his guess was uncanny. "I know you too well, Elle. Always thinking ahead."

"Behind, is more like." She sighed. "I was out of commission while all of the fun happened."

His green eyes, normally summer leaves, darkened. If she wasn't mistaken, his jaw set ever so slightly. "I don't know if _fun _is the word I would have used to describe it."

They stood there, staring at one another for a long time. He was much taller than she, a little less than a foot, and she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. In the candlelight, his face was all gold. But whereas it had washed over Talc earlier, Albus almost seemed to absorb it. He was simply glowing.

"You look nice tonight," he murmured. "I almost forgot to tell you." A hand went to her ear, and she felt her heartbeat pick up in rhythm. Cool fingers grazed her cheek as he tucked a piece of hair away from her face. "The red suits you."

Abruptly, she looked down, and his hand fell away. Her fingers toyed idly with her necklace. "You should go. Scorpius and your sister will be waiting."

"If they haven't killed one another yet." Seeing her expression of surprise, Albus smiled thinly. "They don't get along so well, contrary to popular belief. It'll be a miracle if I return to a civilized conversation."

They stood still for another moment, neither of them moving. She watched his chest rise and fall as he breathed. Albus Potter really was beautiful in the way that things often were: much too delicate for her to touch. She would ruin him in a heartbeat. He was a fly trapped in a web, and yet, he was too entranced by her to notice.

Some part of her was entranced by her, too.

Slowly, assuredly, he moved towards her. Arms wrapped around her waist. Her own responded automatically, clinging to him in the dark. Her face burrowed in the cotton of his jumper. He smelled of broom polish and sandalwood. An oddly comforting smell.

"I'll see you soon, Elle," he murmured. "Faster than you would believe."

And for the first time in a long time, Porella took someone else's word as the truth.

* * *

_They were under her skin._

_ Thousands of tiny bugs crawled beneath the surface of the pale white expanse, gnawing at her insides with their sharp little teeth. Like parasites, they burrowed themselves into her bone. They fed from her veins, laying eggs in the hollows of her insides. She could see them, one-by-one, their ridged backs raising the skin on her arms so that it writhed with maggots-_

She woke with a start.

Heart in her throat, she struck a match, lighting the candle beside her bed. Porella flipped over her arm. Creamy white, with no signs of bugs or anything else. She let out a breath that she hadn't realized that she'd been holding. Beside her, Blake turned over in his sleep.

Her brother's tanned face was flushed. His head was cupped in one of his palms, and he cradled it gently. The other hand was thrown wide, palm up, as if welcoming somebody. His face was slack and relaxed. Porella couldn't help but envy him as she rose to her feet.

As if of their own accord, she found herself at a nearby desk. It was as unfamiliar to her as the entire west wing, but her parents favored the same furniture all through the house: sleek, black, and with expensive-looking carvings. Gingerly, she tugged open a drawer, wincing as it creaked. But Blake didn't stir. She found a piece of parchment and a quill and then sat, thinking.

Porella could hardly send it to Scorpius Malfoy. As much as a part of her yearned to trust the other Slytherin, he was too much like herself: he would use her vulnerability in an instant to convince her to abandon her family. And Porella refused to write to Talc, lest he show up and break her out himself. People like Leah Collins were also out of the question.

But there was someone who owed her a favor for bandaging him up once. Someone who would have to listen. As soon as she realized who she was sending it to, the words began to pour out of her.

Porella wrote about the small things first, beginning with the recent nightmare that she had. She talked about Scorpius Malfoy and Coltan Lestrange. How her parents disapproved of the former, but she disapproved of the latter. She spoke about how she felt like she was being torn in two. That, if she allowed herself to be split, she might never be able to find the other half again.

She spoke of how she was scared to disappear.

And there it was, laid plain on paper. These inky words might as well have been stained red, because she had bled for them. Each sentence had been ripped from her core. Every paragraph was a bit of her, as vulnerable and bare as she could have made it. It was exhilarating and terrifying. It was terribly done and horribly confusing.

It was beautiful, broken, and lovely.

Without a second thought, she sent it. Azrael soared into the night, his white wings stretching out like the moonlight itself. And as he rose, she lost track of him among the stars. She remembered vaguely that her parents had named the owl for an angel of death, but in that moment, the bird was of heaven.

Azrael returned half an hour later with a letter.

With steady hands, Porella tore it open, allowing it to fall into her hands. It was plain: the actual parchment had numbers imprinted on the back, as if the user had ripped it quickly from some schoolwork. There was blots of ink where the writer had hesitated. More than once, by the look of it. She could picture hands being run through a shock of black hair in frustration.

But the message was everything that she had wanted to hear.

_That's okay_.

Porella smiled.

Albus had remembered, after all.

* * *

_A/N: Please leave me a review!_


	8. Chapter 8

_Disclaimer: _I don't own Harry Potter or anything affiliated with it. It all belongs to the talented J.K. Rowling!

_A/N: _I hope that this reaches everyone before a new school year begins! I know that I'm already feeling the pressure. Thank-you for all of your kind words on the last chapter - I know that it was controversial, and I'm blown-away by how well everybody handled it. This chapter should be a lot safer, although I won't say that there isn't some nakedness towards the end. Wishing all of my readers a happy first term!

* * *

The train departed King's Cross at exactly eleven o'clock sharp.

English countryside passed in a whirl of rolling green hills frosted in a delicate white sugar. Lazy sheep grazed in the fields beyond. Trees tall as buildings stretched towards the sky, their warm summer blossoms all but a memory. The bare branches looked especially lonely, as if silently mourning their loss. Raindrops slid down the window.

Porella had chosen to sit alone, if only to give herself time to think. When Blake had dropped her at the station this morning, he had told her not to worry. Her initiation ceremony had been postponed until an unknown date, but the weight of it still sat upon her shoulders like a stack of bricks. They pressed inwards on her. Even when she was safe, she was not.

A light knock on the door made her turn.

To her surprise, Lucy Weasley slid into the cramped space. She shut the door behind her with astounding grace. For a moment, Porella thought that she was going to sit down, but the other girl seemed to think better of it. Instead, she hesitated in the doorway, eyeing Porella as if she were a particularly hungry lion. Porella raised a cool eyebrow.

"Yes?"

"Um." The gryffindor shifted her feet. "I was wondering if I could- uh-"

It was clear that she was hoping Porella would interject with suggestions. She wondered if Lucy was used to being interrupted with such a large family. And so, she did not speak, leaving the smaller girl to awkwardly bumble about for words. Eventually, Lucy gave up.

"Not much for talking, are you?" Porella studied her curiously. She was petite, smaller even than herself, with long brown curls and wide grey eyes. She clutched her wand in one hand like a life preserver. And yet, she had an air of innocence about her. It was written in the rosy flush of her cheeks, and the shift of her weight from foot to foot. She had not yet seen battle, and doubtless never would.

Perhaps it was that she felt a little sorry for the awkward sixth-year gryffindor. Maybe it was that she was impressed by her bravery to come and sit in a Slytherin's compartment. Most likely, it was that she knew exactly what it was like to feel alone, even when surrounded by family. And so Porella made a decision.

"Well, come in, then." She gestured vaguely towards the seat across from her. "I only eat people occasionally, you know. Cannibalism is a nasty habit to pick up." Seeing Lucy's expression, she sighed. "I'm kidding. Merlin, you really don't get out much, do you?"

Lucy frowned. "I'm-"

"Lucy Weasley. Yes, I know." She squinted at her curiously. "You're the breakfast girl. Tell me, do you always drop your food, or do you wait for when an entire student body is watching you?"

These words seemed to do the trick. The gryffindor's face flushed red, only this time, with humiliation. Lucy's arms folded protectively over her chest. Her shoe tapped an irritable rhythm. "I need your help. Will you give me it?"

"Possibly." The other girl's bluntness had surprised her. Porella leaned forward. It wasn't often that someone caught her attention, and it was a miracle that Lucy Weasley of all people had managed to hold it. "Tell me what you need, and then we'll see."

Lucy shook her head. "I need a yes or a no."

"You're dictating the terms now?"

The younger girl colored, but managed to hold her gaze. "It's the only way that I can do this."

Porella found that she wanted to say yes. A part of her, perhaps the irrational, brash side that she so often suppressed, was clambering at the idea of an adventure. The rest of her, namely her brain, was telling her to slow down. Curiosity killed the cat. Her father had told her something similar often enough.

She crossed her legs primly at the ankle. "How did you escape?"

"What?"

"Your cousins." Porella nodded her head towards the compartment door. "You were obviously sitting with them. I doubt that they were too keen on the idea of you visiting a Slytherin."

Lucy was apparently bright enough to notice the sudden change in subject. She folded her arms more tightly around herself. Her grey eyes studied Porella wearily, and a shoulder was lifted casually. "I told them that I was going to find the trolley. That's the thing about being quiet: you fade into the background until you're invisible. I bet they haven't even noticed that I left."

Porella examined her words carefully. She was honest and sincere. There was an exasperated fondness of her family, but no trace of entire loyalty. And she was here alone, after all. Her gut feeling was telling her that Lucy genuinely wanted something from her. She wouldn't get it if this was a trap, and Lucy was smart enough to realize that.

"Alright," Porella said, "I can help you."

The younger girl's eyebrows shot to her hairline. "Really?"

"Don't make me repeat it." She pulled out her wand. To her amusement, Lucy shrunk back into the cushions, as if she could disappear within the velvet of their depths. Porella pointed the stick at the compartment door, where she murmured several charms. The doorway glowed blue.

"A secrecy charm." Lucy was looking at the opening too, her head tilted critically. "Not bad."

Porella shrugged. "Could use some work on the hearing component, though. I've made it so that no one can listen in on us, but that doesn't mean that they'll hear something else. People become suspicious when things are too quiet." She leaned forward, splaying her palms on her lap. They were turned upwards towards the ceiling. Her mother had taught her that it encouraged people's trust. "How can I help you?"

"I need information." Lucy drew a breath, as if bracing herself. "On dark magic."

Porella felt an odd sense of disappointment. The anticipation inside of her deflated. Dark magic was textbook material; she could spew it in her sleep. From the age of five, she had already learned seven different ways to kill a man with a simple three-ingredient potion, and that was just the beginning of her education. She pursed her lips.

"This had better not be for a defense against the dark arts essay."

"It's not." Lucy studied her hands. They were entwined in her lap, the fingers interlacing like those patterns on muggle skates. The very string was being untied and retied nervously. "It's more... personal."

"You want to curse someone?" Somehow, Porella couldn't quite see the petite brunette hurting so much as a fly. "I imagine your idea of dark arts and mine is quite different, then. I don't deal in tickling jinxes, little lion."

"I don't want to curse someone."

"Okay." Porella waited. When Lucy did not stir, she prompted her once more. "Then why are you here?"

"I have an issue."

"Obviously."

"No, I mean a real issue." Lucy bit her lip. Her hands unlaced once more, coming to fist in her lap. "I've been having memory gaps for about four months now. Black outs. Conversations that other people remember having with me and I don't, and conversations that I remember having and I didn't. It's scaring the hell out of me."

She said the words calmly, as if informing Porella that it had just snowed in Surrey. But the slight tremble of her hands gave her away. Porella frowned. "You think that someone is cursing you."

"I never said that."

"You didn't have to." She paused for a moment, thinking. It could have been possible that someone in slytherin had done it as a practical joke, but she seriously doubted that someone would keep up the effort for four months. And as far as she understood, nobody in the council would have wasted their time controlling one of the lesser Weasleys. "I suppose that could be."

Lucy's face fell. "But you don't think so."

"No," she admitted. "I don't."

"I'm not crazy, if that's what you think." Lucy picked at the thread of her wool jumper. It was red, emblazoned with a snowman wearing a strand of gold fairy lights that were enchanted with actual magic. They twinkled in the mid-day light. "I wondered that too, at first, but I don't think that crazy people ever know that they're the crazy ones. That's what makes them so dangerous."

"You want me to find out what's happening to you." Porella studied her. "And then tell you so that you can fix it."

"Yes."

"What makes you think that I'll do it?" She examined her nails impassively, trying to hide the nervous ticking of her heart. The very expanse of her ribs had begun to thrum with anticipation and excitement. Several ideas had already occurred to her, but she could not let Lucy Weasley see that. "Why would I want to help a lowly Gryffindor?"

"Because," Lucy said, "you're just as curious as I am."

And with that, she stood up and left.

* * *

The Forbidden Forest had always held a sort of allure for Porella.

Roots thick as her arm curled around the dirt floor, twining their way around mushrooms and shrubs. What little light that filtered through the canopy of trees was lost in the dark depths and shadows. The bottom was surprisingly spares; only the occasional boulder dotted the undergrowth. A thin layer of mist reached out with reaching fingers. It was utterly silent. The calls of centaurs and bleating of unicorns were farther North, and the silence created its own sort of noise after a while.

It was here that she liked to lay. On her back, she could just see the silhouette of the leaves far above. The fog lifted only to her, parting so that the puffs of smoke issuing from her lips might travel towards the sky and beyond. The cigarette in her hand was like an anchor, holding her here, and she clutched it tightly between two fingers.

"Enjoying the view of eternal nothingness?"

The smell of musky sandalwood and broom polish filled her lungs, mixing with the smoke. The filter of the cigarette burned red above her, sparking in the dark. It illuminated green eyes above her. She smiled lazily. "Hullo, Potter. Should I even bother to ask how you found me?"

Albus ignored her, pocketing what looked like a blank piece of parchment. "No."

"I won't, then."

He stood above her for a moment. She couldn't help but notice that he looked especially beautiful; the black of the shadows mingled with his hair, leaving only the ethereal glow of his eyes. His skin was all moonlight and mist. Albus Potter looked like a painting, crafted with meticulous care.

Quickly, she looked away. "Sit down, then. You're ruining the view."

Albus did one better. Carefully, he lay down beside her, his limbs sprawling gracefully on to the forest floor. He was inches away. She could count every lash on his eyes, dark and sweeping. They cast shadows on his cheekbones. Heat radiated from him, and in their close proximity, she could feel it in her bones. Albus seemed to notice her studying him out of the corner of her eye, because he smiled.

"So you're tempting fate, then." Seeing her expression, he shrugged. "That's why you're out here, isn't it? You're waiting to see if some big bad creature will come and kill you or not."

"And lo behold, one has." She smiled wryly. "It didn't take long."

"I assume you mean the cigarette." His eyes flicked down to where the little stick was wedged between two slim fingers, inches from her lips. In the darkness, it was difficult to tell which he was staring at. "Those things will kill you, you know."

"So I've heard."

Albus studied her intently for a moment. "For someone so cautious, you seem to be lacking any self-preservation instincts."

Porella found that she didn't have the heart to explain exactly how wrong he was. Instead, she shrugged, taking another drag. Albus couldn't have guessed the selfish nature that sometimes frightened even her. How she had considered taking a human life in order to spare her own. Lost sleep over the possibility of a future where she might have to kill dozens. Albus was good, far too good to even think about something like that, and it was oddly comforting that he thought the same of her.

"You're thinking about your family." She stiffened, turning over to look at him. Albus' expression was solemn curiosity. "You always have this expression when you think about them, like you're looking over a cliff. You want to jump, but you're scared of what you might find."

"Isn't everyone?"

"Yes," he said, "but you especially."

She took another drag of the cigarette. The red of her lipstick had stained the outside, marking a circle of blood. The nails that held it were bitten to the quick. Her mother would be disappointed. She had always made sure that Porella kept her nails in pristine condition: long and painted. "You should be watching the Gryffindor quidditch game. Your sister is playing."

"Lily is independent enough."

"Is she?" Porella raised an eyebrow. "You had Scorpius stay with her during the lockdown. She's the youngest of three children, and she has two older brothers. I doubt that she learned how to tie her own shoelaces until at least age eight."

Albus' lips quirked. "Nine, actually."

"My point exactly."

"Lily's just..." Albus hesitated, blowing out a frustrated breath. In that moment, he looked more in need of a cigarette than she, but Porella knew better than to offer. He ran an agitated hand through his hair, and when he spoke, his words were tense. "She lives in her own world. In Lily's head, the world revolves around her, and the problem is that a lot of the time, it does. Being Harry Potter's only daughter puts her in a unique position. But she's still young. She's trying to fight all of the control thrust upon her, but she doesn't understand that if she ends up winning, she'll hate herself. If she's not a Potter, she's nobody. Just a lost soul like the rest of us."

"You're jealous."

"That she's had an identity laid out for her? Yeah." Albus snorted. "So is everybody else, I'm sure."

They sat in silence for a moment. Porella took the last drag of the cigarette, exhaling the smoke into the air. It drifted high into the sky, circling up ahead until it disappeared into the fog and beyond. Next to her, she felt Albus shift slightly, and she sighed. "Don't."

"What?"

"Now you feel guilty for hating your sister sometimes." She propped herself up one elbow, turning so that she could see him properly. "I'm not exactly an expert on family situations, but I'm pretty sure that's normal. So don't beat yourself up. It's depressing to watch."

"You never hate your brother?"

"I dislike almost everyone," she said truthfully, "but not my brother. For some reason, he seems to love me." Porella's eyes fell away from his face, following the curve of her hair downwards. The inky black strands spilled on to the forest floor, shortening the distance between them. "I bet your parents love you. They seem like the type."

"I'm a middle child." Albus smiled thinly. "We're rarely loved."

"Unwanted child." Her lips quirked into something like a smile, mirroring his own. They were both a little forced and awkward, as if they were each trying on a glove that didn't quite fit. "We're never loved. I win."

Her eyes found his face once more. His own were closed, the eyelashes fluttering up and down as he breathed. Albus' dark hair was in a disarray, falling in messy curls around his head. That same smile was still on his face, and suddenly, she could have told you exactly what it reminded her of. It was glass: quick to cut, but easy to break. The exact same as her own.

"I'm glad," Albus said suddenly, his eyes still closed. "Lily's happy. It's my job to look out for her, to protect her. Besides, she has good friends, much better than I could have hoped for her. Hugo and Zeek are decent blokes. I'd trust them with my life."

Porella thought back to her recollections of both of them. Hugo was sturdy and broad, towering over the petite red head. He did seem to adore Lily. The two were practically inseparable, traveling to every class together, whether they were in it together or not. As for Zeek, her only memory of him was his dance upon the Gryffindor table. But both were filled with laughter and life. Classic Gryffindors.

"Would you trust me?" The words were said in hardly more than a whisper, and they were lost among the fog. She hadn't even realized that she had been speaking, but the words kept tumbling from her, pulled as if she had taken more veritaserum. "I mean, could you trust me? If you had to?"

His eyes flew open. They were greener than she had ever seen them, and they reminded her of the time that she and Blake had gone to the country together. She had been eight and he eleven, and the two of them had traveled across rolling hills and rivers for hours. London was dirty, but the fresh air of the countryside had cleansed her lungs and made it easier to breathe again.

"I want to," he said.

It was more than she had been expecting. Porella lay back down again, this time just a little bit closer. His heat burned her blood. The oddest stinging sensation had started at the corner of her eyes, and she turned her head away so that he wouldn't see the tears gathering. "In another life, I think that I could have been an angel. If things were different, I think that I would have liked that. But I've done too many terrible things for that now."

A hand closed over her own. She couldn't see his face, but she swore that Albus was looking at her. "You would've been great."

Slowly, Porella turned. She wasn't sure how much Albus could see in the dark, but he squeezed her hand, and she was sure that it was enough. "That's not the problem."

"Oh?"

"I could still be great," she said, "but I think that all I want now is to be good."

* * *

Porella had never understood girls and their obsession with gossip.

Gossip was for the idle-minded, a sort of filler in awkward silences and empty noise. Why one would voluntarily divulge their secrets to people they hardly knew was beyond her. Secrets were power; dangerous information was the key to blackmail and bribery. You had to know when to play your cards right, and as a true Slytherin, Porella never shared for free.

The dorm room was filled with excited chatter that evening. Peels of laughter rang off of the stone wall, swallowing the small room whole. Four beds were tucked against the far wall, and a low black vanity ran the length of another side. Green light filtering in through the window illuminated pictures of family and friends in sickly white. Porella's own dresser was bare, save for a single clock.

"Do you think that I'd look alright with black hair?"

Leah Collins peered curiously into the mirror. Her cornflower eyes were wide, and she had bit her lip in contemplation. A lock of fair hair was twirled around her finger. Across from her, Jakarta looked up from her book. Whereas Leah was all daylight, Jakarta was shadows at midnight. Her skin was melted chocolate, and she had her hair braided away from her face.

"Well?" Leah waved a piece of wispy blonde for emphasis. "What do you think?"

Jakarta eyed the petite girl speculatively. "Maybe. Anne-Marie, what do you think?"

The last of the trio looked up from her own perch in the corner. Scrolls and parchment lay discarded haphazardly around her, and there was a fresh splotch of ink on the carpet. The quill that she had been holding was snapped in half. Anne-Marie was tall, lean enough that she could see over the beds even while sitting, and she squinted at Leah from behind her glasses.

"Definitely. Your eyes would look amazing."

Porella personally thought that both girls were being far too kind. With her wispy blonde hair and fair skin, Leah would be lucky if she looked older than twelve with dark hair. Just as she opened her mouth to tell Leah that maybe she should work on her nose first, the door flew open.

Abruptly, Leah screamed. Her hands flew to cover her chest, as if embarrassed at the indecent exposure her pajama top gave her. Jakarta yanked the sheet over her torso. Porella almost laughed. Although she was in little more than a dressing gown, she simply crossed her legs, turning towards the door.

"Are you all decent?" Albus Potter stood framed in the opening, one hand on the doorknob and the other over his eyes. His cheeks were flushed from running. "Can I look?"

"No." Porella smirked. "I'm naked."

If anything, Albus colored further. "Throw on a shirt. I need to talk to you."

"You are talking to me."

"No, I meant- oh, for Merlin's sake." He removed his hand swiftly, locking his gaze on the floor by Anne-Marie's feet. Then, as if a thought had suddenly registered, his eyes backtracked towards Porella. His face twisted into a fierce scowl. "Oi! You're clothed."

"Well spotted."

"Good." Then, as if he hadn't just intentionally looked to see her naked, he started towards her. "Come on. You're coming with me." A hand grasped her arm. Hot breath on her neck.

The response was a knee-jerk reaction. One moment, Albus was on his feet, and the next, he was sprawled on the ground. She kneeled over him in her dressing gown. A wand was pressed to his throat. His green eyes were wide, and she smiled coolly. "Try again that again, and I'll castrate you. Now ask nicely this time."

Albus swallowed. His eyes flicked to her chest and then upwards again. "Please."

"Better." Porella stood, pocketing her wand once more. She could feel the weight of her dorm mate's stares on her back, and she straightened slightly. _Let them think what they want. It's probably better than the truth. _"Where are we going?"

"It's Scorpius." Albus moved to his feet as well, and she noticed that he was very careful to keep his gaze on her face. He leaned in closer, dropping his voice to a murmur. His neck smelled intoxicatingly of sandalwood and broom polish. "He wants to be questioned. With veritaserum."

She felt her heart falter. "Why?"

"Lily doesn't believe that he's on our side. He wants to prove it to her." Albus drew back a little so that she could see his eyes. They were alarmingly green, bright with feverish concern and energy. He licked his lips. "Please, Elle. I know that you have some. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."

Porella hesitated. She could see how much this was costing Albus. He and Scorpius had been best mates since first year, and they were bond in a way that most brothers could not imagine. But his younger sister had needed him, and she could still remember his words, just a few days ago in the quiet of the forest: _it's my job to look out for her, to protect her_.

And then there was Scorpius. Albus might not understand why he would be so willing, but she did. The Slytherin was still scared of himself. Worried that he hadn't changed after all, perhaps. The veritaserum would be the only way to reveal the truth, both to others and to himself.

"Alright." Porella blew out a breath. "Give me a moment to dress. And this time," she said, "no peeking."

* * *

_A/N: _Leave me a review, please! I'll need all the motivation I can get to write during the school year


	9. Chapter 9

_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything affiliated with it. It all belongs to the talented J.K. Rowling!_

_A/N: Hope the beginning of the school term is going well for everybody! I'm going to try to keep posting as regularly as I can with the increase in schedule conflict. I'm hoping that people actually read these things. Can anybody confirm for me that I'm not just writing to myself? _

_In the mean time, please enjoy!_

* * *

The walk to the dormitory was brisk.

Porella's dorm was only a corridor down from Scorpius and Albus' own, and she had woken both boys up for quidditch practice enough times to know exactly how to get there. She and Albus kept pace the entire way. The narrow corridor forced them to walk close together, and she could feel the heat radiating off of him. His hand brushed hers. The familiar smell of musky sandalwood clouded her senses.

"So, tell me." She cleared her throat. "What made you decide on round two, then?"

"What?"

"Well, you saw me go through it first." The memory was white-hot pain in her mind, and she winced. Albus followed suit, and his shoulders scrunched up to his ears. She blew out a breath. "My point exactly. I'm surprised that you're eager to put yourself through it again."

For a moment, she thought that he was going to argue. But all he said was, "I'll do it for Scorpius."

Silently, she withdrew the small vial from her robes. It was small, roughly the size of her pinky finger, and just more than one could drink in a swallow. The liquid was clear. She knew from her lessons that it was odorless and tasteless too. A silent killer. The light shone through it, throwing rainbows on to the murky stone walls.

Albus held out his hand, and she placed it in his palm carefully. "Thank-you."

"Don't say that," she warned. "You'll regret it."

They came to a stop at the doorway. The wood was dark, only a few shades lighter than her hair, and a silver four was engraved into it. The body of the silvery number was a snake with a green emerald for an eye. Its forked tongue flicked out forebodingly. Albus hardly hesitated before pushing open the door.

The room was notably quiet. The furnishings were identical to her own dorm, and it was as if she was looking at a backwards image. The photos on the night stands had changed, and the window was on the wrong side of the room. The beds were much messier. Crumpled pants and trousers lay on the floor, and beside what looked like Albus' bed, a dark ink stain shadowed the crisp white of the rug.

Hugo was standing in the corner opposite the door, his broad arms tucked over his chest. At Porella's entrance, he looked up. His mouth was set in a hard line. At his side, on Scorpius' bed, was a red-haired girl that appeared to be his sister. Her face was red and puffy from crying. Lily Potter was hovering uncertainly by Hugo, and, to her own surprise, Talc stood beside her as well.

And yet, it was the boy seated in the center of the room that caught her attention.

Scorpius Malfoy looked worse for the wear. Purple shadows were smudged under his eyes, and his normally immaculate blonde hair was tousled and unkept. The bangs falling into his face were in dire need of cutting. The black sweater he wore hung loose from his wrists. At her entrance, his head snapped up. There was a desperate sort of hope written in the lines on his forehead. Albus produced the vial, and he sighed, although whether in disappointment or relief she couldn't say.

"You have it," he breathed. "Excellent."

"I'm not sure if excellent is the word that I would use." Several heads snapped up, turning in her direction. Legs stiffened. Arms crossed. Porella leaned against the doorjamb, keeping her eyes on Scorpius. "That's one hell of a mess you're about to get yourself into, Malfoy."

_Please don't do this, _she wanted to say. _Don't dig yourself in any deeper._

The flicker of a smile ran over his face, as if he had guessed her thoughts. Perhaps he had. "Porella. I should've guessed you would want to join in the fun."

It was as if she was seeing a stranger in Scorpius' body. His beautiful pronunciation, so meticulously crafted over the years, was entirely gone. He slouched in his chair. Any lean muscle had turned to skeletal bone, and when he smiled, there was a touch of sadness to it. Being good was destroying him.

"I figured you might suffocate to death from too many Gryff's," she said, but the edge of malice was gone. Her eyes strayed to where Lily Potter was watching the exchange with rapt attention, and she studied her intently. "Some of them seem quite... attachedto you."

_Tell me that you're not stupid enough to feel the same. _

As if to rub salt in the wound, Lily suddenly moved forward. She hovered near Scorpius' side, her movements strangely protective. It was as if she was a mother bear guarding her cub. For all the hell she was about to put him through, she seemed determined to protect him from Porella. "Yes, it's wonderful to see you too, Porella," she snapped. "I don't suppose we had a chance to talk after you tried to _kill _me last game! You should stop by for a cup of tea sometime."

Ah.

So Slate or someone had gotten to her, then.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Albus stiffen. He was watching the exchange guardedly. His jaw was set, but there was a vulnerable sort of tick at his throat. Strangely, some part of her yearned to comfort him. To tell him that Lily was wrong, and that she would never hurt him like that. It was an odd sort of sensation, to want to help someone that was weak, and she wasn't sure that she enjoyed it.

It made her hate herself just a little bit more.

"Careful what you accuse people of little lion," she said, her voice just a little more biting than she had intended. "Some people might feel judged."

To her surprise, Lily's eyes darted nervously to Scorpius. The latter's eyes had widened, and a silent understanding seemed to pass between them. Lily's shoulders set. When she turned back towards Porella, her voice was hard and grating as nails. "You're one to talk. How's your life long career terrorizing first years?"

"You little-"

"Woah!" There was a blur of black hair and broad shoulders, and then Albus was between the two of them. He raised his hands in a placating manner. The vial of veritaserum caught the light, and tiny flecks of rainbow scattered over his face like freckles. "Easy, ladies. I thought we were here to drug someone."

Maybe it was the fear on his face. Perhaps it was the fact that he had set his shoulders, as if bracing himself for battle. But in that moment, Albus Potter looked like nothing more than a pomeranian playing at being a bulldog. Porella's face split into a wide grin. "Touché."

"Right." Scorpius got to his feet, moving his chair so that he sat near Albus. "I'm going to do this. So if anyone has a problem with it, now's your chance to leave."

His stony expression left no room for argument. Hugo's sister - Rose, if she remembered correctly - looked slightly green. For a moment, Porella thought that she was going to bolt. But she remained seated, staunchly avoiding everybody's gaze. Her cheeks were a delicate pink.

"Alright." Scorpius grinned and threw his arms wide. "Drug me."

Some of the tension broke. Lily Potter finally seemed to relax slightly, and Hugo uncrossed his arms. Albus let out an undignified snort. "I'm giving you veritaserum, mate, not a pat-down."

His hands went to the vial. Albus fumbled awkwardly with the cap for a few moments, but his shaking hands didn't seem to cooperate. Her heart went to her throat. For the second time, she seemed to want to comfort him, and the foreign feeling weighed heavily in her chest. "Give it to me. You're going to spill it everywhere."

Albus' palm was surprisingly warm. She unscrewed the vial in one smooth motion, careful not to look at him. Instead, she focused on Scorpius. His blue eyes were calm, but his fingers tapped restlessly on the chair. There were no arm restraints this time. All she could give him was foreknowledge. "This is going to hurt. It will feel like someone has taken hooks and pushed them under your ribs."

His expression remained unchanged. Porella raised the vial, hovering it inches from his lips. She tried her best to soften her voice. "The truth is not pretty, Scorpius. It will be most forcefully dragged from you." She could remember her own two answers, choking off her oxygen reply as she spit them from her mouth. Scorpius nodded.

"I'm ready."

She let the contents of the vial drop.

It was like an out of body experience. The pain was still fresh in her mind, but she was watching now, unable to stop what was happening. Scorpius had doubled over, gasping for air as if he had forgotten how to breathe. The muscles under his skin rippled like snakes. His mouth was already crusted with blood.

Distantly, she could hear Lily Potter screaming obscenities. She appeared to be trying to hurl herself at Scorpius, but was forcefully restrained by her cousins. Hugo was murmuring reassurances to her. Eventually, the petite red-head seemed to give up. Her body crumpled on to the bed, and her shoulders heaved with sobs.

Porella's gaze was drawn back to Scorpius. He was moaning, low in his throat, an oddly predatory growl. His hands had made dents in the wood. Sweat poured off of him in rivulets, and his normally pale face was stained red with exertion. Now, he was not a stranger in Scorpius' body, but a different person entirely. A sob caught in her throat, and she closed her eyes briefly.

A warm hand enclosed her own. Calluses from years of chasing pressed into her palm. Albus tried to smile at her, and it was enough for her to remember how to breathe. He squeezed her hand, just once, and then let it go.

Lily Potter had drifted back over. Her knees appeared to have given out, and she sat at the foot of the chair. Her red hair looked dull. The pale white of her face was pinched, and the determination had gone out of her eyes. The Gryffindor fight had abandoned her when all of them needed it the most. To Porella's surprise, the girl looked to her, her expression bordering on desperate. She looked suddenly younger than Porella remembered. A child of barely sixteen.

Without entirely realizing what she was doing, Porella stepped forward.

"What is your name?"

Scorpius' head snapped up. His blue eyes was hazy with pain, and his eyebrows were narrow with loathing. A hand went to his throat as the words scraped his throat. "Scorpius Malfoy." And then, in a groan, "Bloody buggering _hell_."

She felt Albus move away from her, his entire body stumbling. He had gone an odd shade of green. But it was no mercy to Scorpius to quit now, and so she pressed on, years of training kicking in. Her voice was calm and collected. "State your age and house."

"Seventeen," he panted. "I'm in Slytherin." Tears had collected in his eyes, if only from the physical pain. But she had never seen him cry, and he seemed determined not to let her start today. "It feels like- tenterhooks. Under- my ribs. Hurts."

_I know_, she wanted to say. _Believe me, I understand._

"Who are your parents?"

"Draco and Astoria Malfoy," he hissed. His teeth had clenched, as had his fists on the chair. The wood had broken through, now. "They- disowned me." Suddenly, a coughing fit seized him, and he doubled up once more. When he resurfaced, his blue eyes were fierce. "No more-" Cough. "-stupid questions."

"Then I'm done." Porella turned to Lily Potter, who had taken Scorpius' hand fearfully. Her brown eyes were wide with worry. She had never seen something like this, Porella realized belatedly. No doubt she was regretting her decision already.

And yet, Porella could not find it in her heart to pity the girl.

"That means that you'll have to ask the questions, Potter," she told her.

"Me?" Lily squeaked. "I can't!"

Porella resisted the urge to slap her upside the head. _Bloody brilliant. Perhaps you should have thought of that beforehand, hmm? _Instead of hitting the younger girl, she yanked at her arm, turning her so that she was staring directly at Scorpius. His breathing was labored and harsh. Although he had closed his eyes, the backs of his eyelids still flickered. Lily went pale.

"Do you want him to suffer?" Porella demanded. "Because the longer we sit here and debate this, the hardier it is. Trust me, I've had more than one person question me about my intentions. My parents are especially fond of it."

There was no room for sympathy in her voice, and as she had expected, Lily didn't give her any. The red-head drew a deep breath. And, as she had hoped, she nodded. "Alright. I can do it."

"You can," Porella said, "or you will?"

"I will."

"Good." She gave her one last nod before taking her leave. Her feet took tired footsteps towards a nearby bed before giving out. It was as if she had aged fifty years; her bones seemed suddenly delicate and fragile, as if she had been the one to take the veritaserum. Her head felt especially heavy, and she lay it in her hands. Something like guilt niggled its way into the pit of her stomach.

She was a monster. It was as simple as that. Porella had done exactly what her parents had done, if only worse because she was also the hand to deliver it. But Lily Potter had looked back to her once more, and so she quickly squelched the thoughts, smoothing her face to a blank slate.

"Have you ever lied to us?" Lily's voice held a quaver, but her expression was surprisingly well collected. She drew a deep breath and tried again. "Have you ever lied to _me_?"

The answer came out slightly garbled, as if Scorpius was choking on the word. "_Yes_."

"When?"

"I lied- to you," he gasped. His hands scraped at his throat once more, and Porella was reminded of a fish on land, struggling to inhale water that was never coming. "The day under the tree. You asked- you asked me what I said in French and I lied."

"What did you say?" Lily's voice was surprisingly soft. "In french, what did you say?"

Scorpius ground his teeth together. "I asked you if you knew you were beautiful. But that's- that's the only time I lied."

Under normal circumstances, Porella would have mimed retching. As it was, she found herself guiltily disgusted by the exchange. Scorpius Malfoy was a Slytherin, and quite apparently, he had forgotten about that entirely. Porella had lied more times than she could count on both hands twice, and she rarely if ever complimented a Gryffindor. But Lily's face relaxed a little.

"So you're not working for any Dark Lord or plotting against us?" And then, when his back arched in pain, "Please, Scorpius, just tell us. It'll only be a little longer."

"No," he panted. "I'm not working for- for anybody. I trust you."

Perhaps she was the only one to see it, but in that moment, she understood why Scorpius was doing it. At his words, his hands fell still. His shoulders slumped a little in relief. His blue eyes were wide with a certain happiness that couldn't be put into words, and for half a beat, it was as if he hadn't taken veritaserum at all.

But Lily was far from done.

"Have you ever considered working for someone? Has anyone ever offered?"

And the pain was back. His eyes squeezed shut once more, and his words were a strangled hiss. He sounded like snakes. "My parents. They asked- asked me to join them. Near the beginning of term." Porella felt her heart falter. About the same time as her, then, only he had made his own decision faster than she. Scorpius swallowed. "I refused, and they kicked me out- damn it!" He doubled up once more in a fit, and Lily rubbed soothing circles on his back.

"What are you thinking about?"

It was a preliminary question, as far as interrogations went. Which was why Porella was surprised when Scorpius struggled. It was a different kind of resistance, as if he was forcibly choking the words back down. He would not open his mouth to the tenterhooks that threatened to expose the truth. Immediately, Albus was on his feet. His expression was surprisingly black.

"Scorpius," he said, his voice low. "You will listen to me." He seized both of the other boy's shoulders, forcing him to look into his eyes. His expression was one of broken glass. "I hate this. I hate watching you, and I hate having to do this to you. But any questions you avoid answering are just going to make me hate this for longer, alright? You're my best mate," he said, his voice softening a degree. "But right now, if you could be a threat to my sister, I don't care if you're the Minister of Magic."

Again, his words in the forest came back to her, bright and clear as day: _it's my job to look out for her, to protect her_.

"I can't." Scorpius' words were little more than a whisper. All of his energy had gone into the fight, trying to keep the words that threatened to break from his very core at bay. "You don't - don't understand. I can't answer that!"

Lily Potter stepped forward once more. She kneeled, putting herself right in Scorpius' line of vision. When she spoke, her voice was surprisingly commanding, a perfect imitation of Porella's own firm tone. "Scorpius Malfoy, what are you thinking about at this exact moment?"

The words erupted from his lungs. They were rushed, hasty, as if his mouth was a dam that had burst to let the tide of words flow. "How beautiful you are. I think about you a lot, and how beautiful you are. I think you're the prettiest girl I've ever seen."

Well.

_Scorpius not only has a thing for Gryffindors, but ones with raggedy anne hair. _

She supposed it explained why he had never been attracted to her.

"There." Scorpius' face was dark amusement. A choked laugh escaped him. "I hope you're all really- god damned happy." Lily, certainly, appeared to be. Her face had flushed a brilliant crimson, and her mouth was parted in wonder. Albus looked similarly thrown.

"But Lily's my sister." Porella could hear the hurt in his tone, though he tried to hide it. His hands were shaking at his side. Broken glass, she remembered thinking. Too delicate of a soul for her to touch. "And you're my best mate."

Scorpius still looked strangely amused. "Don't ask me if- if you don't want to know." A pained wheeze escaped him, followed by a strangled chuckle. "You- should see your face."

No, Scorpius must not have been able to see the hurt in Albus' eyes. His own physical pain was blinding him from registering anyone else's emotional one. Porella had observed their friendship for long enough to know that if anybody had so much as looked at Albus funny, Scorpius would have taken them out in an instant. To know that he was the one causing the hurt would have destroyed him.

Albus set his jaw. "Would you sleep with her?"

Scorpius paled considerably. He hadn't been expecting that, and she could tell that he was growing to weak to put up a fight. His hands fisted on the edge of his chair. "Al!"

But Albus was hurt. His green eyes had grown dark, and the edge of something sinister lurked in their depths. Porella recognized it from her own face when she looked in a mirror, but seeing it on Albus made her nervous. His voice was unforgiving, with no room for sympathy. "_Would you_?"

"Finite Incantatem!"

There was a jet of green light. It smacked Scorpius in the chest, just under his left armpit. The aim was a little off, likely a last-minute decision, but it made its mark. Lily Potter stood in the middle of the room, her wand raised. She was staring at her brother in abject horror.

"Al-"

But Scorpius fell forward. His body shuddered violently, and he seized in the chair before sliding from the edge. His head smacked the ground with a _crack_. His blue eyes had fallen shut, and his face had paled beyond even its normal alabaster. Albus' expression of ruthlessness had disappeared, replaced by one of alarm. Lily's face was pure dread.

"Oh, will you two relax?" Porella stepped forward quickly. One arm swept her dark hair out of the way as she knelt, the other going to his lips. His breath was cool on her hand, and it came in regular gusts. The spell must have temporarily cured him. Considering the fact that they hadn't taken any of the antidote, it was probably a good thing that he was unconscious as the effects wore off. Porella straightened. "He's still alive. You Gryff's just have a little bit too much enthusiasm when you cast spells; he'll probably be asleep for the next couple of hours."

Or days.

But she was hoping for the former.

Lily was chewing at her lip. "It won't hurt him, will it? I mean, when he wakes up. He'll be fine."

Porella was prepared to tell her that _no_, he wouldn't be fine, and that when Scorpius woke, he would likely still be going through hell. But Lily's eyes, although not green, reminded her just a little too much of Albus'. And so she rolled her eyes and lied through her teeth.

"Aside from the fact that he just had his emotions lay out for everyone to see against his will, he'll be just fine." Her eyes strayed to Albus, who was watching her intently. She tried to soften her voice, if only for his sake. She could feel the self-loathing radiating off of him in waves. "He'll probably feel like he has a wicked hangover. It might be better for him to just have a couple people in the room."

Translation: she didn't want to have to deal with a hysterical Lily Potter when Scorpius woke up.

To her relief, the tiny red-head stood shakily. Her eyes flickered to the door, and she started in that direction before pausing. She turned once more towards Porella. "Will you tell him that I'm sorry? And tell him that I was thinking of the time outside the Burrow when I said it."

Porella nodded. She watched as, one-by-one, the Weasley family filed out the door. Hugo hovered protectively behind Lily, and Rose brought up the rear. Soon, only the Slytherins remained. The room seemed a lot quieter with only the three of them. She had almost forgotten that Talc was here. He had all but faded into the shadows, watching the drama unfold with the speculative eye of a quidditch captain.

"So." He nodded towards Scorpius' unconscious form. "I take it that you don't have the cure?"

At that, Albus seemed to snap out of his stupor. "You don't have the cure? Elle, do you have it?"

"No."

"No?" he echoed. There was an incredulous note in his voice. "What do you mean, no?"

She crossed her arms defensively over her chest. Her face automatically twisted into a scowl. "I mean no, as in I am not currently in possession of it. You asked me for the actual veritaserum, Potter, not the antidote. Besides, he'll be fine in a while. It just takes a bit to wear off."

Albus' eyes slid to where Scorpius' face was screwed up in sleep. "But he's in pain."

"Yeah," she said, massaging her head, "and so am I."

There was no more arguing after that. Together, the three of them managed to lift him up on to a bed. Albus had wanted to levitate him, but Talc and herself, who were both in healing classes, knew better than to jostle his injuries with magic. And so they moved him the muggle way, setting him down as gently as they could. Porella's hands automatically pulled the bed covers to his chin. She smoothed back his blonde hair.

_If he dies, and he didn't give me the chance to apologize for ignoring him, I'll kick his ass._

The thought was enough to make her eyes sting with tears. Albus put a comforting hand on her back, and this time, she didn't shake him off. Talc stared at Scorpius for so long that his eyes must have begun to blur.

And together, they waited.

* * *

_A/N: Please leave me a review! Lilium Ignis readers, I'd love to hear what you thought about a scene that you've already read from a different perspective this time._


	10. Chapter 10

_Disclaimer: I don_'_t own Harry Potter or anything affiliated with it; it all belongs to the talented J.K. Rowling_

_A/N: Sorry for the delay! I actually have no excuse for not uploading this earlier, as the second scene has been written since the very first chapter. I think that a big thank-you is in order for everyone whose kind words encouraged me to write that first scene just a little bit quicker. You're all amazing! _

* * *

The slant of the moonlight was a knife's edge in the dark.

A clock ticked steadily on the dresser beside her. Upon closer inspection, Porella could tell that the squat gold hand pointed well past two. Talc had retreated to his dorm room over three hours ago, after helping her inspect Scorpius for physical injuries, and Albus had fallen asleep a little past one. She could see him now, just a bed over from where she sat. His cheeks were flushed with sleep, and the curve of his mouth was almost childlike. His chest rose and fell in steady breaths.

For once, Porella was glad that she didn't sleep much. As grateful as she was that Albus had finally succumbed to slumber, she wanted to make sure that someone was near when Scorpius woke up. If not only because he might be in pain, then because he might be frightened.

In the moonlight, the sleeping boy's face was all shadows and angles sharp enough to cut. His forehead was creased with valleys and hills. He did not look vulnerable in his sleep like Albus, but rather more alert than he did awake. She supposed it came with years of living in the Malfoy household: one learned to prepare to fight at a moment's notice.

Scorpius murmured slightly in his sleep, and a lock of blonde fell in to his eyes. Unthinkingly, Porella reached out to brush it away. His forehead was still damp with sweat, but she could feel him shaking from cold. There were no more blankets in the room; she had already checked. And so, resigned, she climbed into the bed beside him. The heat of her body seemed to comfort the other Slytherin, and he stopped turning.

They lay side-by-side like that together, their legs interwoven like knit yarn. It was as if they were children once more; Irene Yaxley had permitted Scorpius to sleep over once a month during the full moon council sessions, and the two of them would curl up beneath the stars, a blanket thrown hastily beneath them. They would lie awake through the night and count the dozens of fireflies that soared overhead, and even when she lied about not being frightened of the dark, Scorpius still squeezed her hand. Porella had been brave for her brother, but it had always been Scorpius that was brave for her.

"Ah," a voice said hoarsely. "I should have known that you would try to sleep with me."

Scorpius' eyes were pale sapphire in the darkness. He didn't look particularly surprised to see her there, but there was a relief in his voice that suggested he had worried she might not be. Porella studied his face intently. His expression was calm, but when he spoke, his breathing was harsh and labored. His hands had fisted in the blankets.

"You're still in pain," she observed.

"It's manageable."

That was hardly saying something: with Scorpius, everything was manageable. He could have had all of his internal organs ripped out and she was certain that he would still use that word. "I don't have the cure."

"I never thought that you did." His smile was tight. "Poison them but not cure 'em, eh?"

So his speech pattern was slightly off too, then, she noted. Scorpius must have either been delirious or in shock. Talc and herself had managed to fix most of his bruises, but she knew from experience that some scars ran far deeper than that. "It feels like a bad hangover without the fun part beforehand."

"I could do with some alcohol now, actually."

"Nice try." She couldn't help but smile at the hopeful tone in his voice. "I'm the healer here."

They lay in silence for a moment. Their hands were close enough that they overlapped, but she did not try to take his hand. Scorpius and she were similar in that neither of them initiated physical contact. They had no need for it, and no desire for it either. Company was simply enough. They listened to one another breathe for a while. Whereas her own inhale was strong and sure, Scorpius' was feeble and labored. He seemed to realize this and attempted to distract her.

"You've been avoiding me."

Porella bit her lip. She suddenly felt undeniably guilty. "I-"

"It's alright." Scorpius smiled, his teeth a flash of white in the darkness. "Don't worry. You're not the first person, and I doubt that you'll be the last. I'd be insulted if you were."

He had said something similar to her long ago, before a quidditch match. She had been scared of the truth then; Porella could still remember trying to deny it, whole-heartedly throwing herself into trying to make believe that everything was alright. But here in the darkness, the truth had a way of coming to light.

She rolled over, propping herself up on her elbow. "Would it be cliche if I said that I had to?"

"Yes."

"Then I won't," Porella said. "You're an idiot for abandoning your family, and I didn't want to talk to you because I thought that you were a slick git. In fact, I still do."

To her surprise, he smiled. "Ah. I see it now."

"What?"

He studied her curiously. It was an odd sensation to have a boy look at her and see past more than her features. Talc had been the only one who had ever done so. Scorpius had always been close, but his eyes had tended to wander, whether to her lips or her chest, she couldn't now remember. But in that moment, for whatever reason, something had changed. Scorpius' gaze was planted firmly on her face. "I can tell what Albus sees in you."

"Pure evil, likely."

"I wouldn't be so quick to think so." To her irritation, the blonde boy fell silent, seemingly complacent with regarding her thoughtfully. Porella tried not to shift under his gaze. Automatically, her hand strayed to the chain that held the cross. And suddenly, it hit her all at once.

"Lily Potter is the reason."

It was his turn to be confused. "What?"

"That's why you don't look at me like a piece of meat anymore." When he opened his mouth to protest, she waved him off. "Oh, come on, it's true. You used to do it all the time. But not anymore." She looked at him curiously, her mouth curving upwards of its own accord. "Since you've met Lily, you've been on alarmingly good behavior. Are you in love with a Gryffindor, Scorpius Malfoy?"

"No."

"Ah," she said, "but if you were still under veritaserum, that wouldn't have been the answer."

It was her turn to study him. The fever had gone from his eyes, but it had left a sort of emptiness in its wake. Scorpius was delicate as fine china, but unlike with Albus, Porella was not afraid to ruin him. His edges were already chipped and worn, and only time and careful hands would put him back together once more. Lily Potter seemed more than determined to try. And while Porella wasn't particularly fond of the vivacious Gryffindor, she was fond of Scorpius. She and the latter had known one another since birth. They had grown up together, and if Porella was alike anyone else in the world, it would be him.

"You'd like her," Scorpius said suddenly. "I hated her at first too, you know, but she's not like us. Lily isn't capable of hate, or- or dark magic. She's so good that it frightens me sometimes."

Porella felt an odd pang of jealousy. Not so much for the way that Scorpius so obviously was infatuated with the red-head, but because what he said was true. Lily Potter's decisions were easy. She would choose good without a second thought, and Porella envied her that.

"You care for her a great deal, then."

"Unfortunately." His lips twisted into a bitter smile. "It's a bit of a hinderance."

_It_, he had said. Scorpius' feelings were the problem, not the actual girl. Porella had never loved someone so intensely, but she could imagine that his words were true. As for his previous assurances, Porella didn't really think that she would ever like Lily Potter, but she knew better than to voice that. If Scorpius fancied the Gryffindor, then she could tolerate her.

"Lily wanted me to tell you that she's sorry." Porella paused. "And I wanted to tell you that it's alright."

"What?"

"I said it's alright," Porella repeated. "You fancy her. Brilliant. I'll be the first to show up at your wedding with flowers and a three tier cake. And here's the thing." She drew a breath. "I'm with you, Scorpius. If it comes down to a fight, I'll stand by your side. I'll remain with you, Albus, Talc, and Blake. I swear it."

For a moment, he said nothing. His eyes had livened to an azure, which made her think of tropical skies and far away places that she could never visit. It was a melancholy feeling, with an undercurrent of hope. Scorpius smiled. "You know, Lily may be the most beautiful girl that I've ever seen, but you're a close second. And I don't need veritaserum to tell you that."

"Well," she said. "It looks like you might be physically attracted to me after all."

"That too." His smile was white starlight in the dark. "But I meant on the inside, you idiot."

* * *

The next night, Porella didn't sleep at all.

Shadows crept up the walls of the common room like vines. Every creak was her parents footsteps, and every murmur was a soothing voice with poison tucked in the palm of their hand. It was finally coming back to her in flashes now. Something about seeing Scorpius questioned had unlocked the memories of her own interrogation, and they came flooding back, a tidal wave of pure force. She saw her mother's face, all angles and sharp smiles. The deadly deception of the veritaserum. Felt Coltan's hands on her, sliding up and down her back like snakes-

In the early hours of the morning, Porella would wake up screaming.

The silencing charms around her bed would stop her dorm mates from rousing, but they didn't do the same for her. And so, weightless as a ghost, she would slip from her bed. One hand checked that her wand was there. The other took the bottle of firewhiskey that she had taken to keeping in her nightstand. And then, as habitual as rising for breakfast, she would settle in the common room amidst the sleepless portraits. They never bothered her: perhaps she was as invisible as a ghost as well.

The fire burned low in the grate that night. The red embers threw patterns of shadow, slanted as barbed wire, across the white of her night gown. The darkness still crawled up the walls with unfriendly fingers, but the firewhiskey had softened it now, blurring it to hazy smoke from the fireplace instead.

"Don't tell me that you've become an alcoholic now."

Her head snapped up. Albus Potter stood silhouetted by the flame of the fire. His dark hair was tousled from sleep, and he rubbed at his eyes. His clothes were rumpled from tossing and turning. Porella pursed her lips. "Hardly. I've far surpassed that stage now."

"Really?" He sat down in the arm chair beside her. "Then what does that make you?"

"Stupid."

They sat in silence for a moment. The warmth of the firewhiskey had curled in the pit of her stomach. Coupled with the flame of the fire, she suddenly felt tired. And yet, Porella refused to sleep, lest the nightmares claim her. Instead, she crossed and uncrossed her legs, shifting her body weight until she was alert once more.

"What is it?" Albus looked at her sideways. "What's wrong?"

Porella ignored him. Instead, she took a short swig of the amber liquid. It burned her throat in ribbons of flame, eating at the soft tissues at the back of her mouth. "You know, the flower Porella was once thought to cure liver disease." She smiled thinly. "Irony's a bitch."

Albus studied her face for a moment. Then, to her surprise, he took the bottle from her hands. "I think that you've had enough."

"Me too. But not of the alcohol."

He appeared to have forgotten that she was a chaser too, because in an instant, the firewhiskey was returned safely to her arms. She brought it immediately to her lips. Her head had begun to feel a little dizzy, but the numbness of it soothed her. It was so dreamlike that she wondered dazedly if perhaps she wasn't dreaming now. "Want a sip?"

Albus shook his head. "One of us should stay sober, if only for your sake."

"Why?"

"We might do something that we regret." He shrugged. "You more than I, maybe."

His words weren't really making sense to her, and she wondered if he had been drinking too. Everything Albus said was low and smooth as butter, and if the fire and alcohol didn't lull her to sleep, Porella had the feeling that his voice would soon. "You're too good, Albus. It frightens me sometimes."

"Oh?" Her announcement seemed to amuse him. "And how's that?"

"All of your intentions are so _pure_." She wrinkled her nose. "Your best mate says that he wants to sleep with your sister, and you still wait with him all night. Your sister walks all over you, and you still love her. I'm a complete bitch to you, and yet you put up with it." Porella raised a shoulder lazily. "Do you see what I mean? It's so terribly difficult to be mean to you. Come to think of it, I actually think that I've begun to like you."

She chanced a glance at him. To her confusion, his face had darkened at her words. His mouth were drawn in a grim line, and even though his face was bathed in darkness, she could tell by his words that he was angry. "Christ, Elle. How much of that firewhiskey have you had?"

"Enough."

"Brilliant." He snorted, but there was no humor in it. "And how does it feel?"

Porella thought for a moment. "It's like... _falling_," she said, tasting the delicious freedom of the word on the tip of her tongue. "It's so weightless." Albus snorted, although there was no humor in it.

"Oh?"

"Yes." And suddenly, she needed to stand, as so she did. The world seemed to tip away from underneath her, and abruptly she was flying. "My arms stretch out like wings and carry me away, far, far away, until everything I know is far behind me." She was laughing now, twirling in circles so that the white of her night gown billowed around her in clouds of silk. She tipped her head back, feeling the warmth of the fire on her face. "Do you ever want to run away, Albus? Would you come with me?"

He looked seriously alarmed now. His arms shot out to stop her cold, barring her from movement. His eyes, usually so green, had gone dark. "Shit. What the hell did you take, Elle?"

"Life," she said. "I don't have much more left, you see."

Albus stilled at her words. His hands remained on her arms, although they softened slightly, so that they were the bars of hand rails instead of a cage. He couldn't seem to look at her. "Is that what this is about?"

"What?"

"You're scared that they're going to kill you." His grip on her slid to her elbows. Suddenly, their eyes met, and his were alive with a green blaze, much fiercer than the fire. "I won't let that happen. I swear it to you."

Porella laughed, but it was empty. An old tape recorder that she played to remind herself of what she used to sound like. "You can't stop them. No one can. Once they learn that I've abandoned their ranks, only divine intervention will stop them from hunting me down."

"You're surprisingly eloquent for a drunk."

"And you're surprisingly hopeful for a Slytherin."

They stared at one another for a moment. Porella's breathing was coming hard and fast. She couldn't seem to look away from his eyes: they were entrancing in their color, an almost electric green like the first day of spring. His own cheeks were tinged red from exertion.

Slowly, she brought a hand to his face. They were warm under her touch, and he stiffened at the contact. She could smell sandalwood and broom polish. It was as familiar to her as her own necklace now, as if the very scent had engrained itself into her skin.

"Don't," he said.

"Why not?"

"You're like glass." A gentle hand came up to rest on her own, so that they were both touching his face. His palm was warm and smooth. "Beautiful, broken, and lovely. I'm scared that I'll destroy you."

It was so similar to her own thoughts about him that she almost laughed. But the bubble of amusement caught in her throat, wilting under the intensity of his gaze. Porella sucked in a breath. "I'm sharp enough to cut, you know. Boys that try to pick up the pieces get hurt."

"I won't."

"You're so certain." She smiled, but there was something bittersweet blooming in her chest. The warmth of the alcohol had begun to fade. In its wake, it had left the inevitable hollow ache, and she took a step backwards. "I don't want to hurt you, Albus Potter."

"You wouldn't."

"Ah, but there's where you're wrong," she said. "Just because I don't want to doesn't mean that I won't."

The fire had all but died now, leaving only the red glow of the embers. Sickly green light filtered in from the windows underneath the black lake. Porella had not brought a torch nor cast an illuminating spell, and consequently, the entire common room was all but pitch black. She noticed that Albus did not move to turn on a light. Perhaps it was easier to say what he did next when he couldn't see her.

"I care about you. It's bloody ridiculous, but for some reason, I think that I would do anything for you."

Something in her cracked.

Slowly, carefully, Porella stepped forward. She felt like a clumsy fawn taking its first steps in a new world, as foreign as distant lands, and she trod carefully. The hem of her night gown made a _swishing _noise on the floor. Its touch was a whisper of silk. Distantly, she could hear Albus' breath hitch as she drew nearer.

"Elle," he murmured.

Her hand found his arm. Her fingers brushed upwards towards his shoulder. The curve of his neck was chilly with goose-bumps, and she heard him suck in a quick breath. A half-groan escaped his lips. It was filled with longing and desire, and she heard her own heartbeat speed up in response.

"Careful," Albus managed. "Don't do anything that you'll-"

She kissed him.

He tasted of spearmint toothpaste and some sort of dark vanilla that reminded her of wine and chocolate. Porella inhaled her own firewhiskey on his lips, and she wondered if it had left a mark. Her hands burrowed in his hair. It was soft to the touch, silky and warm from the fire, and her fingers latched on as if he was a life preserver. She was lost in a cloud of sandalwood and broom polish, and she was clinging to him for dear life.

Albus, for his part, was very careful. She could feel him restraining himself forcefully, treating her as if she really were delicate china. His hands ran lightly over her waist, sending shivers down her spine. His lips were eager. But there was something very giving in his touch. He responded to her, waiting hesitantly to see what was alright and what was not. He was not willing to take if she didn't want to give.

Finally, they broke apart. Porella felt her head spinning dizzily, and she was suddenly grateful that Albus' arms were around her waist. For his part, he was entirely out of breath. She couldn't see his face in the dark, but he was panting as if he had just run a marathon. His heat radiated through the thin fabric of her night gown.

"That," he said, "was one hell of a kiss."

Her mouth twisted upwards, but it was full of sadness. "I won't remember in the morning."

"I could remind you."

"You probably shouldn't," she told him. "It's not something that I should allow myself to think about."

Porella extracted herself from his arms, moving back to her seat in the arm chair. The bottle of firewhiskey lay forgotten on the table beside her, and yet she didn't reach for it. The numbing effects of the alcohol didn't hold the same appeal anymore. Not when the rush of adrenaline she had just felt had made her feel more alive than she had in ages.

Albus took the seat beside her. She felt suddenly colder without his arms around her, and she crossed her arms over her chest, hoping that he wouldn't guess why. But, being Albus, he did so anyways. "You're still worried."

"I'm always worried."

"Yes, but not like this." He studied her for a moment. "Muggle healers have a name for it, you know. Post-traumatic stress disorder. It's where bad memories come back to haunt you in your sleep. You go through the experience again and again until your body can't physically take it any more."

She looked down. "How do you cure it?"

"You can't," he said. "You just learn how to live again."

There were no more words exchanged between them after that. The atmosphere had grown heavy with contemplation, and the last embers of the fire had finally turned to ash. But just as suddenly as darkness had fell, the first rays of the sun blessed the black lake with the beginnings of a sunrise. Green light danced through the window. For the first time, Porella could properly see Albus' face. He looked haggard and worn, and the beginnings of yellow bruises smudged beneath his eyes.

But when Albus caught her looking, he smiled. His tired green eyes seemed to spark just a little, and to her surprise, he held out his hand. It lay between the two arm chairs on the coffee table. And Porella, for not needing nor desiring physical contact, decided that she simply wanted it.

Their fingers interlaced as the sun rose above the black lake.

* * *

_A/N: Let me hear your thoughts! Please leave me a review below_


	11. Chapter 11

_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything affiliated with it; it all belongs to the talented J.K. Rowling_

_A/N: Sorry for the delay in the update! Thanks to everyone that has been so patiently waiting for the latest instalment; if you want to see more, please make sure to review and let me know!_

* * *

April held the crisp polish of an apple skin.

The wind was chilly enough that students wound wool scarves around their necks, and melting snow tracked through the castle like the glistening trail of a slug. Porella's cheeks were chapped with cold as she hurried to the owlery, each step just a little quicker than the last. The sky was a drizzling grey, and her feet slid on the muddy banks of the grass. The tower loomed overhead like a bolt of lightening in the sky. She was just about to begin her scrabble up the steps when the _crunch _of a footstep made her pause.

In an instant, her wand was in hand. "Show yourself."

A figure stepped out of the gloom. They wore a cloak low over their head, casting shadows across the surface of their face. The material was bottle green, but Porella couldn't help but think that this was no Slytherin. The person was much too slight to be a boy, and there was a distinct curve to the hips that meant she was indeed female.

"Lower your hood," Porella said, "or I'll do it for you."

Delicate hands reached upwards. Brown, curly hair spilled out and down the sides of the cloak. There was a tooth-gapped smile in the darkness. Grey eyes much too wise for such a young face blinked back at her. "Hullo." Porella raised an eyebrow. "Lucy Weasley."

"You remembered."

"I don't forget easily." She appraised the girl. "I suppose you came for an answer."

Lucy made no move of confirmation; then again, she didn't need to. Porella could think of no other logical reason as to why the younger girl would seek out her company once more. With a shrug, she started towards the owlery. It didn't take long before she heard the soft _tap-tap _of Lucy's leather soles behind her.

"You haven't figured it out," she said.

She shrugged. "I haven't been trying all that hard."

"You're lying. You've given it plenty of thought."

Porella paused in her climbing, planting her feet on the stone step. She turned to look back at the little Gryffindor. "You're quite confident."

"Only because I know that I'm right."

She was, in fact, but there was no way that Porella was going to tell her that. Her insomnia coupled with her natural curiosity had proved a terrible combination. She continued in her ascent, faster this time, grazing her hand over the cool stone of the railing. Lucy wasn't far behind.

"My memory gaps have been growing worse."

"How terribly unfortunate. Perhaps your brain is shrinking."

"I doubt it."

Porella decided that speaking with Lucy was a lot like talking to an eager golden retriever. They were a careful breed of dog, but once excited, they never stopped barking. Every question that she threw at the younger girl, whether asked with sarcasm or real curiosity, elicited a thoughtful response.

"Don't you have a small army of cousins?" Her voice was slightly breathy as the two of them continued their climb, level with the top of the whomping willow. "Why don't you go and complain to one of them about your problems?"

"Because." Lucy twirled a lock of hair around a finger. "They wouldn't understand."

"Why not?"

"It's dark magic." She shrugged. "They like to pretend it doesn't exist. It's easier to walk around with your eyes closed than to deal with what you're seeing."

They had reached the top of the tower now. Porella peered over the edge; the forbidden forest looked like a patch of stubble amidst the pale white snow. The black lake was a mirror. A persistent wind whipped long inky hair into her vision, and she tried to tuck the strands behind her ear to no avail.

"Look, I can't help you." She toed a bit of ice. "It's cute that you think that I'll protect you from evil, but it doesn't quite work that way. I'm the evil that you should be protecting yourself from."

Lucy Weasley stared at her for a long time. Her lips were chapped from the wind, and a red flush was creeping up the sides of her neck like ivy on a building. The hood of her cloak rustled in the wind. Standing on top of the tower, she looked ethereal, like an avenging angel on a mission.

"Please. It's important that- I need to-"

"What?"

"Understand."

They stared at one another for a moment. Lucy's hands were fisted at her side, the blood draining slowly from the knuckles, so that her hands matched the snow below their feet. Porella spun on her heel. She pushed open the owlery doors blindly. Lucy was on her heels.

"Will you help me, then?"

"I already said that I would," she told her.

"No, you didn't. You said that you could."

Porella studied the wall. The owlery was not much warmer than the outside weather, due to the lack of glass in the windows. The ceiling was high and drafty. Some of the hay lay withered and dying in the corner, and icicles large as her head hung from the rafters. Lucy burrowed her hands in the velvet depths of her cloak.

"I want to know if you _will _help me."

Porella turned to look at the younger girl. The sun filtering in through the stained glass tiles of the room stained her hair a glorious red. It hardly suited her; unlike the other Weasleys, Lucy was not made of fire, but a much more forgiving element of sorts.

"I won't put myself in jeopardy," she said.

Lucy blew out a breath. It hung suspended, a white cloud in the air. "I'm not asking you to."

Porella tugged her own cloak more securely around herself. Her toes were numb and frozen in her boots, and she stamped her feet to get the hot blood pumping to her brain. Her cheeks stung from cold. She needed to think quickly, and yet, the thoughts were coming painfully slow.

"Well?" Lucy raised an eyebrow. "Yes, or no?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Yes," Porella repeated. "Now shut-up so that I can talk."

She gave a brief outline of possession, quoting several dark arts books that she had read as a child. Porella could tell that Lucy was the type of person who believed in the written word, and so she repeated several chapters, touching briefly on horcruxes, possession powder, and the imperius curse.

"Horcrux?" Lucy frowned. "What's a-"

"I'm not going to explain. It's not that, trust me."

Porella explained that it was likely one of the latter two, and that the caster was clearly very accomplished. When she began to talk about motivation, Lucy's eyes went dark. Porella could see the thoughts turning like tiny gears in her head, sliding into place like keys in a lock.

"They want Lily, then. To control Uncle Harry."

"Likely."

"They can't have her."

She sighed. "Yes, so I've heard. You all seem rather fond of her."

Even as she spoke, her mind was elsewhere. If somebody was controlling Lucy - and it was likely that they were - that meant that Porella had been purposely excluded from a plan. Her parents had deliberately not informed her of the current happenings, which could only mean one thing: they no longer trusted her after her stunt on New Years'.

The taste of blood filed her mouth. Belatedly, she realized that she had bit through her lip.

Lucy frowned. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Porella lied. "Actually, I was trying to think of someone who you could speak to about possessions. But no one is going to want to talk to a Weasley about it."

"That's not true."

"Oh?" Porella's lip curled "And who do you know that has experienced dark magic?"

"My aunt, Ginny. She was possessed in her first year of Hogwarts by a diary. I've been owling her."

"And?"

"I don't know. I guess she's been busy."

Lucy crossed her arms over her chest. She looked uncertainly small, like a nesting doll that had warped so that it no longer fit within the others. Porella studied her face intently. The younger girl clearly had no idea why her aunt had been ignoring her, but she could have guessed in a heartbeat. What had Albus called it?

Post-traumatic stress disorder.

Lucy was making the older woman relive her nightmares all over again.

"You should try something else."

Lucy nodded. "You're right. I'll have to go and visit her myself instead."

That hadn't been exactly what Porella had meant. In fact, she had meant for Lucy to abandon the plan entirely. But now that the younger girl had spoken, she could see that the argument made sense. Ginny Potter could give Lucy information that no one else would, and the older witch could hardly hide upon seeing her niece without looking suspicious.

"That'll do."

"Really?"

"It's a little obvious, but if that's how you Gryffs do it..." She shrugged. "When?"

"May." Lucy's eyes were alight. "We'll floo in. Albus will go in first, and then you and I-"

"Me?" Porella had not missed the _Albus _part either, and the idea brought a foreign flutter to her stomach, as if a cricket was jumping side to side. Her lips tingled. She squinted at Lucy, trying to decide what angle the other girl was coming from. "You want me to come as well?"

"Of course. We need you to do the actual questioning."

Porella considered it; she was hardly the type to politely go and visit her classmate's parents with biscuits and tea. The only type of formal interaction she had experienced were stuffy society balls, and she somehow didn't think that Mrs. Potter was the type to greet her guests in a cocktail dress and a chignon. Then again, Ginny wasn't expecting them, and it wasn't a meet-and-greet so much as a break-and-enter, followed by an interrogation.

Porella was particularly good at those, now.

"Fine," she said, "but you owe me a favor, Weasley. And I mean it."

Lucy hardly batted an eye. "Done. I'll convince Albus to write his mum and say that he's coming for a visit."

They stood in silence for a moment. The morning sun filtering in through a cracked skylight above had struck a different color now, bathing everything in cool blue. Azure shadows danced across an owl's wing, and a falcon's beak was stained periwinkle.

"Come on, Weasley." Porella cleared her throat. "I forget what I was here for in the first place."

To her surprise, Lucy followed her without question. The brunette trailed her through the doorway, shooting one last glance over her shoulder at the birds in flight before stepping into the chilly April air. They took the stairs in silence. Lucy reached up to pull the thick green cloak back over her head when a third figure gave them pause.

Her hand shot to her wand. "If that's you, Albus, I'm really going to file a restraining order soon."

"Ah, Porella." There was a chuckle, deep and rich as butter. "I thought that I heard your delicate tones." Gold eyes the color of melted caramel appeared next, followed by a broomstick. Talc grinned at her. "In fact, I was just-"

He stopped short, his eyes suddenly landing on Lucy. The brunette flushed crimson. "Er, hullo."

"I-" Talc blinked. "Lucy. I didn't expect to see you this morning."

Lucy was staring very hard at her fingers. "I'm just passing through. I'll see you around, Porella."

And with that, the petite girl was off like a shot, moving with astounding speed in the direction of the castle. The green of her cloak flew out like a banner behind her. Porella waited until she was out of earshot to turn to Talc once more.

"You two know one another, then?"

"No." Talc hesitated. "Well, yes. Sort of. We just met the one time."

But there was something in his eyes that Porella hadn't seen before. It was a sort of gentleness that he only reserved for his younger sister, whom he was fondly exasperated with, and occasionally his broom, which Talc treated with a sort of sacred holiness. Porella had never known how to place it.

And then, she did.

"Christ," she said to nobody in particular, "is everybody in love with a bloody Gryffindor?"

A slow red burned up his neck, but he held his ground. Talc had always been taller than her, ever since they were first years; now, he towered a good foot above her, and even though his adam's apple was bobbing up and down, his gaze was firm. "You owe me a favor."

"I know." Porella looked at him coolly. "I haven't forgotten." When it became apparent that he wasn't going to speak, she sighed. "Well, out with it. I haven't got all day."

"I want you to watch out for Lucy," he said.

This time, she didn't attempt to hide what she was thinking. Porella was certain that a whole medley of emotions played over her face: confusion, disgust, uncertainty. She couldn't help but think of Scorpius, and what he had sacrificed for Lily and the Potter family. Would Talc do the same?

Would she?

"Porella," Talc said, "I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important to me. _Please_."

She nodded, her neck stiff as wood. The words wouldn't seem to leave her quite yet. It was as if they were stuck half-way down her throat, resting uncomfortably in a knot that she couldn't seem to swallow past.

Talc's shoulders relaxed. "Thank-you."

In that moment, there was a thousand things that she could have said. Porella could have told him that it was no trouble, and that Lucy Weasley had talked her into joining her mad adventure anyways. She could have said that the petite brunette was more than capable of taking care of herself.

"It wasn't my choice."

"I know," he told her, "but you still said yes."

* * *

Quidditch practice had been dreary that morning. Sheets of rain knifed from the sky like tiny pellets, burrowing into one's skin. The wind ate at their bones with a savage hunger. It was difficult to make out anything but green and silver blurs. Porella's lips were dry and cracking, and by the time they had landed, her hands were frozen to her broom.

Talc dismissed them for breakfast. He shouldered his broom resignedly, and though it slapped him hard on the back as he went, he did not stop. There was a dejected slump to his shoulders. Porella, who had been feeling particularly bitter towards him of late, chose not follow. If the boy drowned himself in the shower, it was hardly her fault.

"You look particularly cheerful today."

"Sod off, Potter," she said. "I'm not in the mood."

"As I said, your tone is unusually delightful."

Albus followed her into the change room, wringing the excess water from his clothes. His trainers left puddles on the stone floor. Droplets of rain had plastered his dark hair to his forehead, and driblets ran into his eyes. She watched as Albus shook his head. A hand went through the unruly mess.

"Careful," she said. "You'll kill the rest of your rapidly depleting brain cells."

The green-eyed boy paused in his movement to look at her. His expression was not one of anger, but pure amusement, as if she was a kitten that had tried to growl. He let out a low whistle. "Somebody really ticked you off, then."

"No."

"That was hardly convincing." Albus rummaged in the locker beside her, thrusting his arm in to the metal container. He retracted it with jeans and robes in hand. "Was it Blackthorn?"

"He irritates me on a daily basis."

"Talc, then." When she made no sound, the boy grinned. "Ah. What did our captain do to anger you so?"

Porella thought of Lucy. The same shooting irritation gnawed at her now, and she pursed her lips so tightly that she was certain they had gone white. She was bound to a _Gryffindor_. Her sense of honor and duty prevented her from breaking her word, but every time she thought about what Talc had made her promise, Porella felt ill. Her nails bit into the skin of her palm.

"Oh, come on." Albus was still grinning. "What did Talc do to you?"

Porella shrugged. Her hand snaked into her own locker, and she retrieved both her skirt and blouse. Her wand was already strapped to the inside of her calf. "Nothing."

"Alright." To her surprise, Albus didn't push it. Instead, he reached over his head and pulled at the back of his uniform shirt. It slid over his head with ease, and he tossed it aside without a second glance. Porella's eyes slid involuntarily to his chest. The wet t-shirt beneath seemed to cling to the hard muscles beneath, toned from years of quidditch, and she felt weak-kneed. A hot flush was creeping up the back of her neck.

Porella yanked her gaze away forcefully. "Oi! Change somewhere else, Potter. This is supposed to be a common area; no stripping allowed."

If anything, Albus' grin grew wider. "Why? See something that you like?"

"Yeah." She glowered. "But it's not you."

Unfortunately, the only other person in the changing room was the new beater, Cepheus. He was squat fifth-year, with a bulbous nose and eyebrows that bore a faint resemblance to caterpillars. Porella had never seen him smile before. Cepheus was competent with a bat, but social skills was hardly his forte.

Albus looked as smug as a cat with a cornered mouse. "Oh, please, do elaborate on your feelings for Cepheus. I'm sure that we would all love to hear this."

Fortunately, Cepheus took that moment to gather his belongings and depart. Porella was spared a response. Instead, she focused resolutely on her locker, careful not to let her eyes wander towards the dark-haired boy once more. "You can't change here."

"Oh, yeah?" One of Albus' arms propped up casually on to the locker beside her head. His muscles reached an alarming amount of exposure. If Porella had any doubts that he was oblivious as to the effect he was having on her, they were gone in an instant. "And what are you going to do about it?"

"This."

In an instant, she had removed her own shirt, casting it aside with the ease of throwing away old rubbish. It had exactly the effect she had intended: whatever cavalier attitude Albus had adopted vanished instantly. He let out a yelp, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. A hand was flung out to shield her from his vision. "What the _hell_ are you doing?"

"I'm changing," she said.

"Well, stop!" Albus' cheeks were stained with a mortified red, although she noticed that his breath had quickened. He opened his eyes, averting them so that they were fixed on the ceiling. His throat was working something fierce. "Jesus, Elle! You can't just- and then just-"

"Eloquent," she observed.

That appeared to be the last straw. His eyes found her's once more, although Porella noticed that he was very, very careful to keep them on her face. Every time that Albus' gaze would begin to wander down to her chin, he would drag them upwards once more.

"Put back on your shirt."

"No," she said. "Not until you do."

And just like that, all of the haughty arrogance was back. Albus leaned against the opposite wall, shoving his hands casually into the pockets of his trousers. A smile played on his lips. "All the more incentive to stay shirtless, then." He raised an eyebrow. "You do realize that you've kneeled on top of me in nothing more than a dressing grown, right? I think that we've passed the awkward stage."

His face was flushed, but his gaze was steady. Porella shrugged, slipping into her blouse. The cross necklace around her throat was jostled slightly, sticking out awkwardly over the stiff material, and she tucked it against her skin deftly. Her fingers reached up to knot her tie.

Albus was looking at her oddly. "Why do you wear that?"

"School regulations, Al." She smiled wryly. "Even you should know that."

His expression never changed. "Not the tie. The necklace."

Suddenly, the metal felt uncomfortably hot against her skin. She could feel the rose design of the cross digging into her flesh, and she resisted the urge to touch it once more. Her gaze rested on her locker once more. "I don't know."

"I don't believe that." Albus' face was all curiosity. "You never take it off."

Porella hesitated. She had found that, however oddly, anytime that she was around Albus lately, she had the urge to tell him anything that he asked. More, even. Ever since she had written that letter to him, there had been an understanding between the two of them. Not trust, exactly, but something more substantial than that, and it was irritating the hell out of her.

"Some people think that I wear the cross because I'm religious." She smiled, but there was a sour lemon taste in her mouth. "They think that I believe in God or a higher power. But I don't: faith in something bigger than us is just a story that parents tell scared children to help them sleep at night."

"And your parents never told you that?"

"My parents told me a lot of things, but that was never one of them." Porella toyed idly with the small chain, turning it over and over in her hands. "Fate is a load of shit. It's just us on this planet; anyone that tells you differently is either pretending or has been pretending for so long that they've forgotten that they are."

There was a moment of silence. Then, "Why do you wear it, then? If you're not religious."

"I don't know." Porella sighed. "I sometimes look at the roses and think to myself, aren't they the most beautiful things? Imagine how long it must have taken the crafter to carve each intricate petal; it must have taken months. And yet, even now that they're done, you can see that they'll never be as beautiful as a real rose." She shrugged. "I suppose I wear it to remind myself that no matter how hard mankind tries, we're never going to be able to live up to nature's expectations."

"That's rather depressing.".

"So is life."

A silence fell, heavy and thick as the gathering storm clouds outside. The change room no longer felt like a sanctuary from the fierce wind; the lockers stood solemn and empty, their insides torn out. Their doors hung open in gaping jaws. Any noise bounced off of the walls, and Porella could still hear her words ringing, although whether aloud or in her head, she couldn't say.

"Elle."

She glanced up. Albus looked suddenly contrite, his hands folded awkwardly behind his back. Whatever had spurred his unusually flirtatious attitude was gone. He fidgeted uncomfortably, almost hesitantly, as if uncertain how to proceed.

"Yes?"

"Are we going to talk about what happened?" he asked. "Between us, I mean. What we're going to do."

Suddenly, Porella wished that he had continued his mad, shirtless bravado, if only because he wouldn't be looking at her like that. She could feel years of training colliding within her. Part of her wanted to shut down, to remain stonily silent until he gave up and left her alone. The other part was begging her to run into his arms and tell him that it was going to be okay.

Naturally, Porella went with the first instinct.

"We'll forget about it, of course," she said briskly, arching an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware that you were ever considering anything else."

Albus frowned. "But-"

"I was drunk, Al." She shrugged. "I hardly remember any of it, anyways."

That last part had been a lie. Porella remembered all of it with startling clarity, enough so that each time she thought about it, the memory seemed more real than the last. The feel of his mouth on hers. His arms wrapped around her waist. The heat from his skin. Each sensation was imprinted into her very being, well enough that she could have described Albus with her eyes closed.

And yet, he seemed to believe her. "Really?"

"I remember sitting by the fireplace," she said, "and that's about it."

Something dark stirred in Albus' eyes: an autumn chill amidst the spring foliage of greens. His hair had all but dried now, leaving only water that clung to his lashes. When he blinked, the drop traced a path down his cheek. "Of course. We'll just be friends, then."

Another heavy silence fell. While Porella had never really had any friends, she was certain that most didn't sit in silence and simply stare at one another. Albus seemed reluctant to dress, and she found herself reluctant to leave. And yet, neither of them spoke. She could think of nothing to say.

"So." Albus cleared his throat. "I spoke with Lucy."

"She told you the plan, then?"

"Yeah." The dark-haired boy shuffled his feet. "In May, right?"

"Right."

She studied Albus' face more closely. His jaw held an unusual tightness, and there were crinkles around his eyes. A red flush was creeping up his neck. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, but judging by the fold to his trousers, they were bunched into fists. Porella felt a squirm of uncertainty. "Listen-"

"You'll need more information." Albus seemed unable to meet her eyes, focusing instead on the tie that he held in his hand. It coiled around his wrist like a snake, striping his skin with silver and verdant. The greens were only a shade or two darker than his eyes. "If there's a spy at Hogwarts, my mum isn't likely to be much help."

Porella had already thought of that. "I know."

"Do you know anybody else?" Albus sounded less hesitant than before. A newfound agitation had leaked into his voice, lending him confidence, and it was hardly a leap for her to guess that Albus' thoughts had turned to Lucy. "Would your parents-"

"No."

"Oh." The disappointment ran clear in his voice. But there was something else, almost a touch of shame. It was the type of sheepish expression someone might wear after sending a get-well card to somebody who had recently passed away. Albus scratched at the back of his neck awkwardly. "Of course not, I forgot. Never mind."

Perhaps it was the devastation written in the worry lines on his forehead. Maybe it was that Porella had promised Talc that she would take care of the Gryffindor. For whatever reason, the thought of Lucy had entered her mind now, coupled with a foreign instinct.

The desire to protect the girl.

"My parents would never give up any information, especially after the stunt I pulled at Christmas," Porella told him. "They won't tell me anything." She drew a breath. "But I know someone that would."

* * *

_A/N: Please leave me a review! Who do you think Porella's going to ask for help? What's she up to?_


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